She's Come Undone
by MorganWolf
Summary: First attempt fanfic of Jace/Clary. Choosing teen rating for comfort. I've added some light fluff for all the fluffernutters here and at home. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare**

They sat at the table silently, no one willing to break the silence. No one wanted to be the one that spoke the glaring truth. Clary simply was not making much progress as a Shadowhunter. She was training with each of the Lightwoods and Jace, looking for her nitch, her weapon. Tonight's battle was a real time reminder that they were not playing games. Jace had been seriously hurt trying to hold his own, and protect Clary. Alec looked at her. Though the old animosity was gone and replaced with affection, she was still a liability. Isabelle furiously studied a tear in her new skirt, and lamented loudly that she'd just have to go shopping tomorrow. Again.

Jace watched Clary from beneath his lashes. His arm still ached were it had been wrenched and slashed, despite the healing iratze He didn't mind the pain from his injury, he was accustomed to it. What wounded him to his core was the defeated look in Clary's eyes. Her gaze never left the stele she twirled in her fingers, regardless of Izzy's attempts to lure her into a shopping trip. When she spoke, she kept her eyes locked on the small weapon.

"I'm going to head to bed. I need a shower, there's demon blood soaking into my clothes while we sit here."

No one responded, and everyone avoided Jace's eyes as well, as he watched her leave the room.

Sighing, Alec started "Jace..."

"Not now, Alec." his chair scraped the linoleum floor as he pushed back angrily and strode from the room.

Isabelle met Alec's concerned gaze and shrugged.

"It could've gone worse."

Hot water ran down her bruised back, doing nothing to ease the tension that had her muscles knotted painfully. She thought back to the fight. Nothing serious, really. A couple of Ravenors, and a few other lesser demons. Nothing she shouldn't have been able to handle, with them. And yet, she'd felt as if her entire being was weighted down. Every move was sloppy, and the demon was able to anticipate and counter her at every turn. Had Jace not acted when he did, she might've been killed, it had gotten that close. And he'd been hurt. He hid his pain well, but the cords standing out in his neck as he battled the demon over her, and then as they'd healed him told her all she needed to know. She was not cut out for his world, it was too late for her. The years spent repressing her memories had robbed her of her true identity. Tears overflowed, and coursed down her cheeks. Smacking the tiles limply, her body shook with her sobs. How did you share a life with a warrior, if you couldn't live up to him? And every moment she continued to carve a place for herself at his side, she put him in danger. All of them, really, were in more danger. She knew Alec and Izzy would have done the same, had they been close enough to act. Would she feel any less pain, any less responsible, if something were to happen to one of them?

She turned the shower off and dried. As she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, visions of Jace battered and bloody as he loomed over her protectively followed her down to sleep.

The bright morning sun that shone through her window did nothing to ease her mind, or improve her spirit. She dressed hurriedly, and left as quickly as possible to avoid any of the others. She headed straight to Times Square. The heavy tourist traffic would ensure her anonymity, and give her time alone with her thoughts. The brisk air burnt her lungs as she first stepped out of the warmth of the Institute, but that wore off within a few blocks. She kept her head down, avoiding the gaze of lost tourists who needed directions. Her mind fed her visions from the night before of Jace bleeding, his face twisted in pain. Clenching her teeth she doubled her pace, silently berating herself.

"Clarissa Fray." the sound of her name broke her reverie, and she turned. Surprised to hear her name in an area she had expected no one to know her, she sought the speaker. The only person looking back was a street vendor she'd never seen before.

"What did you say? Do I know you?" she asked, eying the woman suspiciously.

She was just some corner magician. Trinkets littered the table, fake crystal balls and tarot decks. Gaudy technicolor signs gave promises of anything, for a price. The woman returned the stare calmly.

"No. It is I who know you, Clarissa. All the Downworlders have been waiting for you to appear alone."

"And why would Downworlders want to see me alone?" she asked, her suspicion growing.

"We have been charged to bring you a message. One that is not to be shared with your love."

"What could you possibly have to say to me that you couldn't say to Jace?"

The woman's cool gaze never faltered as she replied, "I bring word from your brother."

The words punched into Clary's gut and left her speechless. Her mouth worked and no sound came out. Sebastian.. no, Jonathon.. was dead. This woman must be mistaken. Speaking of which, how did this woman know anything of her, or her brother?

"Who are you?" Clary demanded, her tone sharp.

"I am a witch, I call myself Pandora. I have been charged to tell you that your brother lives and repents his actions. He begs your forgiveness and wishes to know you. He wants to reclaim that which was stolen from him by your father."

"That's impossible, my brother is dead."  
A small smile broke from the witch before she could contain it. "Your love almost killed your brother, yes. But he survived his wounds. He is healing now, and his time away from your father has given him a chance to see the folly of his hatred."

"Who healed him, how? Why would someone heal him?" Clary's mind was in turmoil. If Jonathon lived, they were all in danger... most especially Jace.

"Hear me, Shadowhunter." Pandora's voice broke her thoughts. "I healed him. Others now guard him, protect him from demon and Clave enemies, both"

"Why would Downworlders protect Valentine's son and right hand?"

The question did not take Pandora off guard, she noticed. She knew Jonathon's history. "Your brother never knew his mother's love. He was denied that from his birth. He was never loved, protected or cherished as you were by Jocelyn. He was never loved or taught by Valentine. To your father he was a mistake that could be honed into a weapon. But he was still despised by both of his parents, something you could never understand. And even you, whom he longed to know the whole of his life, even you turned away from him. Even you spurned him for Jace Wayland when the opportunity arose."

"Its Lightwood. Jace Lightwood, now."

"The name of your orphaned boyfriend is of no import to me, Clarissa. He is simply the lash that was used against your brother the whole of his life."

Clary's mouth gaped at this outrageous woman. "Who.. who are you to say such things to me??" Clary raged at her.  
"Why would a Downworld witch save the right hand of Valentine when he was sworn to destroy all Downworlders? How can you possibly think you can trust my brother? What has he promised you, because he will not live to make good on it." she seethed, her breath coming in short bursts. Her mind reeled with the next words.

"I saved your brothers life because I love him. He came to me crawling on his knees, begging my help. He was prostrate with grief over his actions and begged me to end his life, for he could not stomach the things he had done. It was only with great force that I did not do just that. But his pain.. both his physical and his mental.. were palpable. He was truly sorry. He meant it when he said he would just as soon die, in turn for what he'd done. In the face of such remorse, I could not strike. So I healed him, in so much as I was able." her words trailed off and Clary could think of no response.  
The silence spun out between them, as they eyed each other. Pandora seemed to reach some internal decision and reached into her bag. Clary braced herself as she withdrew her hand, but she only held up an emerald pendant. The silver chain was delicately worked, the strength rune it suspended was set with brilliant emeralds. It was a breathtaking piece. Pandora eyed her once more and then spoke.

"It is a gift, for you.... from your brother. It was your mother's. Your father saved it from the fire, and had kept it all these years. Jonathon thought you should have it." she paused, and her face softened just the slightest bit. "He said it would bring out your eyes, Clary."

"Clary!" the familiar voice rang out from a few stores away. Pandora shot Jace a venomous look and shoved the pendant into her hand.

"Do not tell him of your brother until you've decided. Jonathon is yet too weak to defend himself."

Pandora shoved the pendant into her hand and curled her fingers over it. Even from the distance, she could see Jace's questioning look. He was moving towards them too quickly to hide the necklace, though.

"Shopping? Izzy will be so jealous." his flippant tone did not fit with the concern in his eyes. "Who's your new friend?"

Pandora was transformed by Jace's arrival. Her face brightened, and she beamed at him conversationally.

"I just had a piece of jewelry a Shadowhunter might like. It's not everday you see a lone Shadowhunter wandering this area." she said, gesturing to Clary's clenched hand. He sharpened his attention on Clary, questioning her with his eyes.

"It's nothing Jace, just a necklace with a rune on it. Nothing to get all worked up about." He dismissed Pandora from the conversation and focused on Clary.

"I went to your room to meet you before training."

"I decided I didn't want to go to training, today. Its not as if it were doing me any good."

"I think you're making too much of what happened last night."

Clary watched the witch out of the corner of her eye. The conversation of her shortcomings was not one she wanted to have in front of someone who could relay it to Jonathon. Deliberately, she changed the subject.

"I'm hungry, let's get something from Taki's?"

Pandora's words drifted to her as they walked away.

"Don't forget, Shadowhunter. I can find things that are lost, and return them to you."

Jace's face was twisted with confusion. Clary shook her head and shrugged, ignoring her.

"Witches."


	2. Chapter 2

It was warm in the restaurant, making her happy to come in out of the cold. The delicious smell of coffee and frying bacon hit her at once and she inhaled deeply. She hadn't realized how hungry she really was. Scanning quickly, she noticed Jace's kelpie waitress wasn't working. Good. For some reason she couldn't identify, the kelpie made her uncomfortable.

When they were seated Jace went right to the point.

"We need to talk about last night."

"I really don't want to, Jace. Can't you just let it go? I'd like to have a peaceful breakfast."

Thankfully, the waitress came to the table. Clary wasn't sure what she was, exactly, but it wasn't human. Her skin had a purplish tinge to it, and her eyes were almost pink, with bright red irises. They ordered their meals and after leaving their coffees again, the interruption was finished.

"I'm not going to let it go. I'm not letting you give up. And I'm not letting you go to Idris without me."

"What? What the hell does Idris have to do with me missing one day of training?" she asked, lost in his scattered thoughts.

Two tables away, a were child spilled his chocolate milk all over his father and sister. The commotion drew all eyes momentarily, but Jace's gaze lingered as the father laughed and calmly mopped up the mess. She watched him, knowing he was thinking of Valentine, her actual father, the only father or family Jace had ever known until he came to live with the Lightwoods. When he turned back, his eyes hid his emotions.

"The only reason Jocelyn and Luke agreed to you living at the Institute, was so you could be formally trained by Maryse and Robert. If you give up training, there's no valid reason for you to be here. Jocelyn will want you with her, its only right. Which means you'll be going to Idris. Neither she or Luke can leave the Clave now with the peace still so fragile." he paused, and furiously studied his coffee cup. "I don't want to lose you."

She'd have laughed if he didn't look so completely dejected.

"I'm not going back to Idris, Jace. I may not be as strong a fighter as the rest of you, but I can still be a Shadowhunter. I'll just be the handy sidekick with the wicked drawing arm. I still have to learn so much about who we are aside from the fighting, there's no reason for me to leave yet."

The clouds in his eyes cleared, and he smiled at her. It was like the sun after the rain.

"Good, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about."

She didn't answer, just cocked an eyebrow in invitation for him to continue.

"We're different, you and I." he dipped his head and she nodded she was following him. "You've only been training with Maryse, Robert and the duo. Maybe that's the problem. They might be taking it easy on you, because its been so long,. But I know we can do more. Remember, I was trained ..differently. I was trained by.. someone.. who also knew our difference. Maybe, what you really need is someone who understands how we work to push you more."

"Forget it, we've already had this debate."

The food came, and from the tension at the table, the waitress dropped their plates and scurried off.

"We did not discuss it, you flat out refused to let me help you." he sulked, mashing his hash browns with his fork.

"Yeah, and there's a reason for that. I am not going to let you push me around for six or eight hours, and then try to be cute together. It would be too weird." _Not to mention, you'll see what a total train wreck I am when it comes to fighting_, she thought, but did not add.

"But I might be able to help you" he pressed.

"Forget it Jace, its not going to happen."

They picked at their food in silence. She didn't think the Lightwoods had been going easy on her, at all. And even if there was a possibility he was right, she'd never let him see how terrible she was. She'd study the history, she'd learn the laws of the Covenant, but she wouldn't patrol with them. It wouldn't be so terrible, really. A little alone time while they were out battling the big evil. That was one blessing she missed from living with her mother. Now that she was at the Institute with Jace and the Lightwoods, she had very little time to herself. Whether it was actual training or Izzy barging in to drag her on some shopping extravaganza, she got little peace.

The sounds of the restaurant made their way into her awareness, breaking her reverie. Looking up, she saw Jace was also lost in thought, his free arm resting on the table, hand clenched. She took it in hers and her voice was gentle.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jace. You don't need to worry about it. I'm just not going on patrols anymore. I won't put you and the others in danger like that. We tried. It isn't part of who I am. That's okay. I'll shield you with runes, and heal you when you get back. Home fires burning and all, ok?"

He smiled, and his hand tightened around her fingers. "Okay."

* * *

This was the first night she didn't go with them for patrols after dinner. They'd been gone about two hours when her restlessness finally got to her. She'd showered and dressed for bed, thinking the cozy flannel pajama bottoms and thermal top would transfer their comfort to her soul. It didn't work. Her mind replayed previous battles unbidden, and she found herself pacing the floor with anxiety. Was Jace in danger this minute? Was she leaving them handicapped by not going with them? Was Jace right, was she giving up too easily? She was being ridiculous. Of course she couldn't be there, she'd just make it worse. _This is what you wanted_, she reminded herself.

She'd tried reading, watching TV, nothing was stilling her restless mind. Well, when all else fails, she always found peace when she drew. She grabbed her charcoals and her notebook, angrily shoving things aside on her desk top. She put pencil to paper and reached inward to the calm center of herself. Her hand moved of its own accord, bringing the picture forth with little conscious thought of her own. Detached, she outlined and shaded, bringing the image to life. What she saw when she finished made her gasp, and the pencil slipped from her fingers. Sebastian's.. no, Jonathon's… dark eyes stared back at her. The Dark Prince of her childhood dreams. Shoving away from the picture and the desk, the pendant caught her eye from the bureau. Her mothers, she thought. She still wasn't sure she believed it entirely, but the possibility made it impossible for her to discard the piece. That it was from Jonathon meant nothing to her, but if it had indeed been her mother's it was priceless. Her mother had lost everything in the fire when she fled Valentine to protect Clary. An entire life lost, along with her parents.. Clary's grandparents. Picking it up, she studied it a moment before slipping the chain over her head.

She dropped it beneath her shirt, the cool weight resting an inch or so under her collarbone, but it was not bulky. She decided she'd wear it for now, until she could be sure. Looking around the room, it was obvious she'd get no peace here. She decided to go for a walk to clear her head.

If the afternoon had been cold, the night air was down right frigid. She pulled her coat tight and tucked her face under her scarf. She turned into Central Park, despite the hour she wanted the open space. She laughed, thinking of Jace's comment on all the fairies. She still felt her biggest problem would be any potential muggers.

She plopped on the nearest bench and closed her eyes, hoping for the elusive quiet in her mind. What she heard was a scuffle. Opening her eyes, she turned to see a female fairy locked in the grip of an obvious demon. Clary's inexperienced mind could give it no name, but its appearance left no doubt. She jumped to her feet and grabbed her stele from her pocket.

"_Zuphlas_" she stammered as she ran to the skirmish.

Everything they'd tried to drill into her head in the last three months fired into action at once, which is not the easiest way to plot an attack. She advanced on the demon, which had spun to her when she'd uttered the Angel's name. It snarled and lunged at her, claws snapping in promise of violence.

When they crashed together, she drove with her stele, but only delivered a glancing blow to the creature's arm, skin splitting and hissing. The smell of charred flesh wafted from the wound and turned her stomach. She dew back, aching for clean air as the wound wasn't the only odor the beast offered, but her jacket was snagged in its right claws. It reeled her in, mouth grimacing to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth. Pieces of garbage were snagged in those teeth, and suddenly the jaws opened, the strong grip drawing her ever closer. Tightening her hold on her stele, she prepared to strike again, pulling her arm back for the blow. She never got a chance.

The next moments were blurred in her memory after, but her next conscious thought was that she was on her back, in the grass. Nearby there was howling that would wake the dead. Fortunately most of them were oblivious. She raised herself on her elbows and surveyed her surroundings. Pandora stood above the demon, hands splayed, blue and orange flames shooting from her palms to encompass the demon. The fairy had disappeared. When the demon was still and only smoking, Pandora turned to her. As she took a step away, the body began to disappear. So she'd killed it, then.

As if in answer to Clary's thoughts, Pandora said, "No super powers, Shadowhunter. But everything burns." her eyebrows rose dramatically and Clary shuddered.

"You saved me."

"Of course, didn't your brother ask me to protect you?" was her answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Intruments belongs to Casandra Clare**

Clary ignored the hand Pandora offered to help her up. She sneered at her words instead.

"My brother asked you to protect me? That's amusing. Especially considering, he's one of the bigger threats in my life."

Pandora's lips pursed in annoyance. "Your brother has changed." her hands came up to hold Clary's retort at bay. "I won't deny he has much to atone for, and that he was indeed evil. But he's human, he can change."

"He's half demon, that can't change!" Clary yelled.

This woman was infuriating if nothing else. As if some random stranger could erase Jonathon's actions with a sweep of her hand. He'd practically killed Isabelle and Jace. And Max, well.. .with Max he'd succeeded. She felt a familiar pain as she remembered the beautiful little boy.

"My brother has killed, or tried to kill, everyone important in my life. And you expect me to run to his side, after some random stranger arrives with some pretty words and an apology? I don't know what he's feeding you, to make you believe him, but I'm out. I'm not interested. And you can tell him if I see him, I'll kill him."

"You certainly didn't have a problem killing your father, did you?" Clary's eyes flew wide in shock and she opened her mouth to speak, but Pandora continued, "Your brother knows his sins. He does. The weight of them wears on him heavily. But ask yourself, Clarissa. Did your brother hurt you? At any time when you were together, did he lift a hand to harm you? Think about it. At his most violent, when he'd just tried to kill two Shadowhunters, and he'd just thrown your boyfriend through a wall- you rushed him, and he merely batted you away. Do you think he couldn't have killed you then if he'd wanted to? " Clary's mouth snapped shut audibly.

"You know the answer to that, you don't have to tell me. Your face says it all. So, your "evil" brother never hurt you, though Valentine told him to bring you to him, or kill you. When Valentine wanted you brought back, so you could be eliminated from the equation, Jonathon argued you were no threat, there was no reason to kill you. Did you know that?" She could see by the look on Clary's face that she did not. Clary opened her mouth to interrupt, but Pandora motioned her to wait. "You need not take my word for that, Clarissa. Ask Jace....he was there."

Clary's blood ran cold. Pandora's words blew an icy chill across her heart.

_Ask Jace, he was there_. The words tumbled in her head like molten embers. _Your brother argued to save your life, and Jace heard it….go ahead, ask him_. Pandora watched the effect the words had with some satisfaction, and chose her next words carefully.

"Jonathon will be pleased you accepted his gift."

"What-?"

"You ARE wearing your mother's pendant, are you not?" she said, eyeing Clary knowingly. "He'll be pleased you liked it." with those words, Pandora turned on her heel and left as quickly as she'd come. Clary headed home, her thoughts in turmoil.

She opened the door to the Institute and hurried into the warmth of the building, paying no attention to her surroundings.

"And just where the hell have you been, Clary?" an angry voice demanded.

She looked up to see Alec, Isabelle, Simon and Jace outfitted in enough weapons to lay siege to Idris. Magnus she noted, was not armed to the teeth, but was watching the proceedings with an amused look on his face from the safety of an armchair. Isabelle was the one who had spoken, and now she strode forward angrily.

"Where have you been? When we came back you were gone and wouldn't answer your cell. You can't just go wandering off like that. Not when half the Downworlders in New York know what you can do."

The severity of the attack left Clary speechless, and before she summoned a response, Isabelle had reached her, and was inspecting the great rents in her jacket left by the demon's claws.

"Your jacket is _shredded_, Clary. Where were you?"

"I-, I was in Central Park. I went for a walk. Calm down, Izz." she wrenched her jacket out of Izzy's grip, but it was too late. The boys had seen the damage, and all the faces now turned to her were questioning, and worried.

"This is not from a park bench," Izzy pointed out helpfully, pulling again at the jacket.

Clary took a step away from her, out of reach.

"There was a demon there, I had a little…scuffle."

"And? "Magnus chimed in, smirking at her. She shot him a poisonous look.

"I took care of it."

"Alone?" Alec asked.

"There was a fairy there."

"Meliorn? Isabelle asked interested.

"No.. look, I said I handled it, okay? What's with the third degree?" she threw her most disgusted look at them, and turned on her heel, hoping she'd done it as well as Pandora.

"Well done, Isabelle." Magnus cracked behind her.

Clary slammed the door to her room loudly, hoping to be clear she wanted no disturbances. Shrugging out of her jacket, she eyed the telltale destruction angrily. When the knock came to her door, she knew who it would be, even before he spoke.

"Come on Clary, open it." he called when she didn't respond right away.

With her hand on the knob, she closed her eyes briefly, asking the Angel for strength and then opened the door to Jace.

He stood in the doorway, his face carefully controlled. But she saw as his eyes went to the ruined jacket and came back to rest on her face.

"You worried me."

She rolled her eyes as she walked away from the door. "Don't you think you're all being just the slightest bit ridiculous?" she asked him, picking at her pencils and notebook. Glancing down, Jonathon's face peered back at her. She closed the book. "You can come dragging yourself in, broken and bloody at any hour of the day and night, and its all hale the conquering hero. I come in with some tears in a jacket, and the lot of you act like I ran away to Italy or something."

He smirked at the barb, but didn't take the bait. He carefully closed the door, and then closed the distance between them.

"You don't get it, do you? I've lost so many things already, Clary. The only father I ever knew, twice. My home, my identity, Max.. I've survived it so far. I don't think I'd survive it if I lost you too."

He cupped her face gently, softly outlining her lips with his thumb.

"Clary, I-" he started, but his words were lost as his mouth closed on hers. The kiss was light and reserved, full of questions. The tenderness in it surprised Clary. That this man could be so gentle was unexpected. And he was a man. Years of battle, pain and loss had aged him before his time. Surely his soul was as battered and scarred as the flesh she now felt beneath her fingers. Yet this abuse had not destroyed the fragile core within him, it had merely buried it deeper. And now he was laying that fragile core at her feet in supplication. It was this tender reserve that set off explosions within Clary. Her own overwhelming emotion welled up within her as she slid her hands along his warm, scarred skin. Feeling lean muscle tensed beneath it, desire spread though her veins like liquid fire. She leaned into him, melding herself to the length of his frame. This time the startled gasp was his, at the ferocity of her response.

When their eyes met, he let slip the iron grip he'd held on his self control, and matched the fire he saw in her eyes. He crushed her against him, deepening the kiss to meet both their needs. He gasped again when she caught his lower lip in her teeth, and took them to the floor, limbs entangled. Without missing a beat, she seized the opportunity and threw herself on top, straddling him. Her hair rained down around him, brushing the sides of his face as she bent her head to his. His vision was alight with copper fire.

Her skin was like silk beneath his fingers as he ran the tips along her ribcage, trailing goose bumps. His hands on her bare skin sent a riot of color against her eyelids, and her back arched as she luxuriated in the feel of his touch. Together they pulled first her shirt, then his, over their heads. Rolling gently to his side, he rearranged them so his weight pinned her to the floor. His lips brushed hers, and then her jaw, her neck, setting off a torrent within. Her breathing was heavy, swirling the golden locks as they brushed her skin. As he reached her collarbone, she reached for his belt. Suddenly his hand was guiding hers away, still, ever so gently.

"No, Clary. Not this way. Not like this." he murmured into her chest, catching his breath as he frantically tried to still his galloping heart.

Blinking she opened her eyes, trying to refire melted synapses.

"Wh- Why are we stopping?" she babbled, sitting up.

He was propped on his elbow, gazing down at her languidly.

"This isn't how it should be, our first time. Hurried between patrols and when Maryse and Robert come in." he gathered scattered clothing as he went on. "When it comes, it should be more than this." he looked at her solemnly and handed her the shirt they'd discarded.

"You deserve more than this."

She touched his face lightly, with just her fingertips. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a voice that agreed with him. It was just being drowned out by her libido at the moment.

"I love you, Jace Lightwood."

He smiled into her palm as he kissed it."That's very good. Because I adore you, Clary Fray."


	4. Chapter 4

She was rinsing her cereal bowl the next morning when Jace came up behind her.

"Let's play hooky today" he whispered in her ear, her hair tickling her face as it moved with his breath. She shut her eyes a moment and drew a deep breath so her voice wouldn't waver.

"I thought you wanted me to go back to training."

He laughed and moved closer, pressing her between him and the counter. When his fingers slid beneath the waist of her jeans, her breath caught.

"What's one more day?" he breathed.

Her heart was racing, and she wasn't sure she could get the next sentence out without her voice breaking. She didn't.

"What do you want to do?" she croaked. She could feel his insolent smile behind her.

His grip tightened on her hip, but before he could reply with something smart, Isabelle saved her.

"Seriously, spare me the visuals." she sneered as she came up beside them.

His hand fell away, but the feel of his touch lingered.

"You're just pissed because for the first time in your life, you have competition. Downworlder competition, at that."

Isabelle flushed crimson as her eyes and mouth flew open wide in shock.

"Y-, you…" she stammered, swinging at him.

But he just laughed wickedly as he danced out of her reach.

"It's true, Simon has a harem now."

"Clary, really.. .get him away from me." she hissed.

Clary bit the inside of her lip and avoided eye contact, so she wouldn't laugh out loud. Pushing Jace backwards, and out of the kitchen, she could still hear plates crashing into the sink as Isabelle muttered something about Downworlders under her breath.

"Brilliant. Like that's not already a loaded situation, you really need to be stoking the fire?" she reprimanded him, but it was undermined as she laughed.

Snagging her around the waist, he pulled her close and kissed her. Deep within, his chest rumbled against her hand as she pushed him away.

"I doubt that's a possibility with a full house, pal. I hope you have a plan B."

"Fine." he said, eyes still closed as he savored the taste of her. "We'll go out then. I just want to have you near me today."

On the street, hurrying to keep pace with him, her phone chirped. Seeing Simon's name on caller ID, she answered it.

"Hey"

"Bad time?" he asked.

"Well, I'm on my way out. I'll call you when I get in?"

"Yeah, sure. Hey, is Isabelle still there?"

She had to laugh at the hope in his voice. "Yeah, but good luck. It's a little stormy there today."

She was still laughing when she slammed into Jace.

"Hey-" she started, but then she saw him.

He was standing stock still, at high alert. He looked like he'd run into a wall himself, he was so rigid. His face was completely void of color or expression. The little hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

"Simon, I'll call you back."

She followed his line of sight, and saw only an empty street corner two blocks away.

"What is it?" she asked, glancing back between his startled face and the empty corner.

"Nothing. I just thought I saw someone." his weak smile was a poor attempt to assure her, as he visibly shook himself.

"Someone?" she repeated.

"No, something. I thought I saw something." his smile was stronger this time, but she still wasn't convinced.

As he grabbed her hand and towed her along, she glanced back at the empty corner. She didn't see anything but the park that stretched beyond.

They walked a while in silence. She broke it when she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" she asked.

"Nope. And I really don't care, Clary. After this past year, I'm content just to wander this city in peace with you by my side." his hand tightened its grip on hers.

And they walked. They walked circles around the city. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they were silent for long stretches. They ate a cheap lunch off a street vendor and continued their wanderings. In the end she walked tucked into his arm, her head resting against his chest and her arm around his waist. Between breaks in the traffic, she could hear his heartbeat.

She sighed when they stopped at a bench, once more having arrived at the park.

"Tired?" he asked, pressing his lips to her cheek as he leaned back. She shook her head.

"No, happy. Today was perfect. Nowhere to rush off to. There's no demon blood on my clothes, and I don't smell like decay. This may have been my best day ever."

He laughed. "Well, you're easy to please, but I do have bad news."

She groaned as he checked his watch. "We have to go back."

"Sadly, yes. Isabelle has probably whipped up something truly frightening for dinner and we'll have to hurry if we want to pick up Chinese."

"Yum, Chinese." Clary got to her feet and let him pull her towards the take out shop.

* * *

After the surprise dinner, Jace and the Lightwoods dressed for their patrols, and she had the whole place to herself. It was about that time that she noticed how big the building was. She fired off a quick text to Simon, to see if he'd like company and jumped in the shower.

When she was finished dressing she saw his response, which told her to bring something to watch. He'd never understand these people, she mused. One TV in the "common area" and it was older than her. These were not sit around couch potatoes. At least Simon had cable. She grabbed her stele and tucked the dagger Jace had given her into the holster inside her jeans. She might actually get to see a whole movie if she hurried. She threw her jacket on and stepped into the cool night air.

As Clary rounded the corner, she saw him. Across the street, his hands folded in front of him, watching her.

_Jonathon_.

Her heart skipped a beat and her step faltered. She glanced around wildly, for other signs of threat, but there were none. Her hand fumbled at her waistband, reassuring her that the dagger was there. He could see her. Clearly he was watching her, appraising her situation. Her blood ran cold when she realized he'd know she was alone. Silently, she cursed the stubborn pride that had made her refuse Jace's offer to take her to Simon's.

Without consciously deciding, she was traveling across the street, headed straight for him. He backed into the shadows of the park as she came near. When she had reached his side of the street, he stopped his retreat and held his ground.

She eyed him warily. He held no weapons, and was dressed simply in a dark t-shirt and jeans. His stance was relaxed, and he held his hands at his sides. He'd changed, she realized. Gone was the black hair of the imitation Sebastian Verlac. He now had his own white blonde hair clipped in layers, her unruly waves echoed faintly there. Her fathers deep black eyes stared back at her as she closed the distance, her hand on the dagger.

"It was you. You're the someone Jace thought he saw." she said, her tone flat. Her entire body hummed with an electric current.

He nodded without breaking her gaze, and she realized his eyes, the ones that were so very like Valentine's, swam with tears.

"I wanted to see you." he answered, gesturing helplessly.

As the silence stretched out between them, he very deliberately turned his hands out at his sides, to show them as empty. And stepping forward, he dropped to his knees at her feet. When he sat back on his heels, he released her gaze finally, and faced the ground.

She stared at the top of his head, but it was the vision of others that floated before her eyes.

Hodge's death, and the damage done to Isabelle. Jace, broken and bleeding from Sebastian's attack. The crumpled form of Max Lightwood in his father's arms. Those faces he was directly responsible for, as well as the carnage that had been strewn across the streets of Alicante that night. She shook with her rage as her fingers clenched and unclenched on the hilt of Jace's dagger. It would be fitting, she thought. To sink Jace's dagger into Sebastian once more, finishing him once and for all.

Her rage coursed through her, swelling her strength. She could do this, she knew it. She was stronger than she'd been since that night. She could kill him. Yanking the dagger from its hidden sheath, she raised her arm to strike. She shook with vengeance for all the pain and suffering her father and brother had unleashed on her life. And as her arm fell a fraction of an inch, two things happened at once.

Jonathon raised his eyes to hers and the tears spilled down his face. The bottomless despair she read in his eyes slowed her swing.

"Go ahead, I know I deserve it. It should be you that does it." he whispered.

And behind her, Pandora started screaming.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare. Quoted here in humble homage.**

She could hear Pandora's footfalls pounding the pavement as she ran towards them. She knew the witch was too far away to stop her. In that split second's hesitation, her mind's eye summoned the moment that she'd stood on her toes to peer over the crowd after Alec and Jace. They'd walked away without a word, drawn to what they had seen as if by some unseen force. And she'd seen them all - each locked in a private hell- and Alec was on his knees, holding Max's hand.

She remembered how her heart had been torn open much like theirs had been. How she'd wanted to run to them, and comfort them. It had been a useless urge then, there would have been no comfort she could have given them then. There would have been no way to bring Max back. Her gaze fastened again on Jonathon's eyes, and it was not his heartbreak she saw there, but the ghost of Jace's. Her voice was cold with hate when she spoke, her chest heaving with her emotion.

"You're right. It should be."

And her arm resumed its descent faster now, the momentum of her conviction adding to the power of her swing.

"NO" Pandora's screams reached her from a place far, far away from her consciousness.

But the pain found her immediately. Pain gripped her arm with a crushing force, as if it had been caught in a vice. Seconds later agony ripped up her spine and traveled through her tendons and blood vessels alike, like white hot lightening,

She gasped in pain as her knees collapsed beneath her. She hit the ground hard, and it wouldn't have surprised her if her cheekbone had shattered when she struck the pavement. The force of her impact knocked the dagger from her hand and it skittered across the pavement, coming to rest against Jonathon's knee. She couldn't stop the pain, and her mind refused to control her limbs. She couldn't move, she couldn't even curl into a defensive position. She just lay there, gasps breaking from her lips as she drew ragged breaths through the agony.

Jonathon blinked in surprise, and looked between Clary and Pandora once, before realization dawned on him. Clary saw the stricken look on his face, and followed his gaze to Pandora, seeing blue and orange sparks flame and catch between her hands. She knew what Pandora was going to do, and she couldn't even will herself to respond. But Jonathon could, and he did.

He threw himself across Clary, shielding her from the witch as he screamed.

"No Pandora, NO. Don't hurt her."

His voice was unnaturally loud in her ear. His words rattled around in her head like captured ravens seeking escape. Surely she was delirious from the pain. Lying on the street, helpless and in agony, she had lost her reason. It wasn't possible her brother was pleading for her life. It just wasn't within her realm of the understandable.

He locked Pandora's outraged gaze with his own.

"Stop this." he demanded through clenched teeth.

Immediately the pain stopped. Not even a ghost of the pain Pandora had been causing remained. Her cheek still throbbed mercilessly, though. She gathered her composure and tried to scramble out from under her brother. His closeness unnerved her, as did his familiar smell of black pepper. Her stomach turned at the memory. Though the pain had stopped, she still could not move. She was as helpless as she'd been before. Her dagger lay within reach, mocking her situation. His eyed scanned her face and form, searching for signs of pain. All he saw was her contemptuous hate, radiating off of her in waves.

"Are you okay, Clary?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He didn't meet her eyes directly, she noticed.

She opened her mouth to hiss a response, but no sound came out. A little voice in the back of her head laughed at the rerun of her last encounter with her family.

"She won't answer you." Pandora said, proudly.

"What have you done to her?"

"Nothing. She's not in pain, and I won't hurt her. But I'm not going to let her free while you're here. She tried to kill you! And you were going to let her!" her voice gained volume as she went on, ending in a pitiful wail.

"Of COURSE I was!" he thundered back, taking both women by surprise. "I deserve it. I've ached for it since you saved me. I deserve no less, and quite a bit more."

Clary had a fleeting thought as to how she could find no fault in his reasoning. This time he spoke directly to Clary, his eyes locked to her face.

"I have no excuse, nothing to hide behind. I am haunted with the visions of what I've done. Those I've hurt, killed.." his voice trailed off, and his eyes lost their focus. His sight was now on something within, and the pain it caused him was reflected in his expression. Clary's mind flinched away from the scenes he must be remembering.

"I know you hate me. You have no reason to believe me, to trust the things I say. I just needed to have you hear them, before you released me from this hell that I'm in."

Pandora's voice was pleading when she spoke.

"Jonathon, you're hurt. You're still not strong enough for this exertion. You don't mean what you're saying. You can't want to die. Not when we've found the cure."

_CURE?_ The word stuck out in Clary's mind like a beacon. _To what, being a demon?_ She thought, watching the two of them intently. Jonathon's head dropped, as if he couldn't bear to tell Pandora these things.

"Pandora, you think that saving my soul is a matter of potions and powders. I tell you it is not. The beast is within me, here." he thumped his breast bone for emphasis. "The monster in my blood is not just the Morgenstern genes, but the demon placed there by my own father." his eyes were beseeching her to understand. "I can't escape it. And I can't forget what I've done. The people I've hurt. I enjoyed it, Pandora. Don't you understand? That can't be washed away by some books you find from my father in the ruins of an abandoned manor."

Jace's voice came back to her, from a very different setting. They were in the Wayland Manor, they'd gone to retrieve The Book of the White, and she'd asked him if he wanted to take any other books from his childhood. His words hammered in her thoughts now.

"_I was only allowed to read what I was assigned," he said. "Some of the shelves had books on them I wasn't even allowed to touch." He indicated a row of books, higher up, bound in matching brown leather. "I read one of them once, when I was about six, just to see what the fuss was about. It turned out to be notes my father was keeping. About me. Notes about 'my son, Jonathon Christopher'. He whipped me with a belt when he found out I'd read it. Actually, it was the first time I even knew I had a middle name."_

They'd destroyed that manor when they released the angel Ithuriel. It wasn't possible that Pandora had found anything there. Debris had scattered the hillside for miles. Of course, those books had not been about Jace, he'd been wrong. They were the texts Valentine had kept to record progress he'd made with the real Jonathon Christopher. The one who loomed over her now, eyes fixed on a witch. The one he'd ruined with demon blood, trying to make a perfect warrior. That it had failed miserably was not important to Valentine, he'd continued on, keeping record of attempts at redeeming Jonathon, and then at least focusing his son on his goal. That is what Jace had seen, and why he'd been beaten for reading it. Pandora's eyes met hers with cold resolve.

"I found your father's journals. He had to find a way to make Jonathon easier to control. He needed a way to keep the demon at bay, to prevent it from consuming his soul. He found one, and dosed him regularly." she shrugged, as if dismissing her own role in this. "It wasn't very hard to duplicate the formula, or to increase the doses. Now, the man before you has almost no demon qualities. So long as he is medicated, he can be normal. He can be just Jonathon Morgenstern, your loving brother. And that is who you were about to kill. An innocent man who would no more harm you than your beloved Jace would."

Clary's eyes roamed between Pandora's face and Jonathon's. He still couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, but he spoke.

"I don't know if she's right, Clary. I don't know if this will really heal me or not. But she is right on one point. I could never hurt you. You are my sister, the only semblance of family I have left. God knows our mother will never accept me, and our father is dead. I should be too, I know that. But at least you know now, that I am sorry for the things I'd done. I am sorry I caused you such pain." he looked to Pandora "Let her go, we're leaving. This is enough now."

He rose and with an arm about her waist, he turned Pandora towards the street. When they had made it a few feet away, Clary sprang to her feet, reclaiming the dagger in the same move.

Neither of them turned and looked back. As she watched them go, she realized they did look very much a couple. Pandora's long black hair gathered high in a sweeping ponytail complimented her brother's pale clipped waves. If she hadn't known any better, she'd have thought them very average indeed.

She turned and headed back to the Institute, pulling her cell from her pocket as she did so. She punched Simon's number and waited the few rings it took him to answer.

"Clary, you alright? What's taking so long?" he asked.

"I'm not going to make it Simon, I'm not feeling too well. I think I got some bad Chinese. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. You okay? Want me to come over til the others get back? You don't sound so good."

"No, no. I'm fine. I just need to lay down."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Intruments belongs to Cassandra Clare**

Clary's mind was reeling as she closed the phone, not even bothering to say goodbye. The entire scene was replaying in her mind's eye on a loop. Jonathon's despair, his stricken expression as he'd seen her hurt. The resignation when he'd spoken of her killing him. Thoughts of Jace, and her rage, had blotted out all other thought when he'd stood before her. Now, with them safely away, she contemplated the information Pandora had given her, weighing it against Jonathon's reaction. It didn't seem as if either of them were lying, and there was no question Jonathon had in fact delivered himself to her vengeance. Neither had he flinched when she raised her hand to strike.

For the first time since Pandora had tried to tell her, Clary allowed the possibility that it was true to take root in her mind. She pictured herself, with her brother, happy. She pictured herself trying to find the words to tell the Lightwoods it hadn't really been him. That he was sorry. And then she pictured Jace's face, saw his eyes as she tried to tell him. She could only imagine the betrayal she'd see written there. As she tried to explain to him that the pain he'd endured at the others' hands was a mistake. She couldn't even find it in her to finish the sentence in her mind.

And then she thought of her mother, how would she ever tell Jocelyn? And that thought sobered her. Her mother would of course need to be told if it was true. No matter what anyone felt or thought. No matter what she herself felt or thought. Her mother believed she had lost her son before he was born. She'd mourned him for the last eighteen years. Even now in Idris, she had her memory box. The reminder of the child he could've been, with a lock of his hair in it. Clary could remember years of that box and her crying, clutching the hair in her fist.

The thought that such false hope could come to reopen that wound made Clary's rage surge anew. Clenching her teeth, she changed direction. She had been wandering aimlessly in the general direction of the Institute. Now she knew she needed answers. And there was only one person she knew who could give them to her.

Magnus was watching her very carefully. Too carefully, she thought. He was looking at her like she'd just pulled the pin on a hand grenade and he was afraid to make any sudden movements.

"Stop staring at me like that!" she finally snapped, slamming her hand on the arm of the overstuffed chair she was in.

He flinched at her outburst, and pursed his lips to speak, but nothing came out.

"What? Say something! I came to you hoping you could help me." she tried again, more calmly.

"Well, darling, I don't know what to say." he answered.

She should have known. Silently, she schooled herself to be patient. She had barged in on him unexpected and announced that their mortal enemy, assumed dead, was still alive after all. Not just alive, but repentant. Oh, and that she'd tried to kill him.

She jumped up and paced to the windows, looking down on the neighborhood. She spoke without turning to him.

"When I saw him, all I could think of was what he'd done. All the people he'd hurt. Max. All I could see was those people, I couldn't really see him." she paused, reluctant to say it. "I think they may be telling the truth, though. At least, they think they are. So I need to know if what Pandora's saying is possible." and now she did turn to him

"Jace told me once that while all Downworlders are cross breeds and in some part demon, only witches and warlocks are the children of demon parents. They're literally half human, half demon. That this is what makes them the most powerful, and that because of that strong mix they're unable to have children."

"That's all very true." he said, waiting for her to come to her own questions.

"What I need to know, then, is that what Jonathon is? Did my father's experiments create a different kind of cross breed? Jace and I have angel blood, but we're not immortal. We're certainly not angels. But we have the added power that those experiments gave us. Is it possible that Jonathon is the same kind of half breed? That my mother was wrong about all the humanity being burned out?"

"I don't know, Clary. I'll have to ask around. We'll have to call the Clave, see what they have. What's been uncovered of Valentine's-"

"No." her voice was hard as she cut him off. "No investigations, no more experiments and trials. No Clave. My mother and Jace can't know about this. Not yet." he noticed her eyes were troubled, and filling with tears. "This is going to hurt one of them terribly, no matter what happens. I won't allow that to happen until we have answers."

"What are you going to do?" he couldn't help himself from asking. The small girl before him looked ready to shatter from the emotions she was holding in.

"If it's true, I have to tell my mother. She lost a son." her eyes dared him to deny it as she went on. "If he's lying I'm going to kill him. And you're going to help me deal with the witch." He watched her another moment, but he couldn't sense any wavering in her conviction. Drawing a deep breath he said,

"You should've let me turn him into a hat rack when we had the chance."

She gave him a half hearted smile as his phone started to ring. She listened to the one sided conversation when he answered.

"Missing again, huh? Have you considered a lojack, maybe?" a pause with angry words on the other end. "I'm merely pointing out that there are easier ways of locating your missing strumpet than my very costly services." another pause. "She's here, Shadowhunter, there's no need for name calling." another break. "No, she has a cell phone, call her on it. This is my phone." with those words he hung up on Jace and turned to her.

"Looks like you'd better run along." he said blandly.

"I'll go, but will you do it? Will you help me, without telling them?"

"I gather you expect me to do this out of the kindness of my heart?" he goaded her

"I don't care why you do it. Just don't tell anyone until we know what we're dealing with. Not even Alec." again his lips pursed with disapproval but she went on "They'll both run off after him. Do you want them to go against him again? They barely survived the first time, and now he has a witch at his side."

His eyes darkened at that thought, and she nodded, knowing he was agreeing with her.

"You need to know you can do this, Clary. It's one thing to have the heart to kill him, but you'll need the strength as well. Do you really think you can do it?"

"Get me the answers I need. I'll take care of him. If he wants to get closer, then I'll just have to do it, won't I?"

She turned on her heel, and descended the steps to the front door. She closed the door to his building, once again stepping into the frigid night.

When she reached the Institute, she went right to her room, not waiting for anyone to realize she was back. Swinging the door open, she saw Jace perched on the side of her bed. He was already wearing the sweat pants and t-shirt she knew he slept in so he'd obviously decided against going out to retrieve her. He was holding her sketch book, and it was open. He didn't look up when she came in, just stared at the picture of Jonathon.

"Bad dreams?" he asked. His voice was so low she couldn't decipher his emotions.

"No, I wasn't feeling well. I thought Magnus would be able to make me one of those teas Hodge used to brew." she hoped her voice wouldn't give away the lie.

He was silent a moment, eyes locked on her drawing. When he spoke, his voice was soft, and she could tell he was troubled about more than just her wandering off alone again.

"I know there's something bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?"

The question took her off guard and she raised one eyebrow.

"Being sick? It's just bad Chinese " she started, but he cut her off. His eyes were haunted when he raised them to hers.

"I mean about this." he waved the sketch pad at her as he spoke. "I know you must have some thoughts about it. He was your brother, and I killed him. I wonder about him sometimes, too. In some ways, he was more my brother really, than yours. I wonder what he knew of our f-, of Valentine, that I did not. Was he driven harder, having been blood? Or was he loved more, as his actual son?" his eyes no longer saw her, but wandered the room as he asked the questions aloud that he'd kept bottled within for so long. "Sometimes I think I see him. I wonder if it's his spirit, come back to tell me that I'm damned. As damned as Simon is, with his Mark. For I slew my brother too, did I not?"

Clary's mouth worked, but no sound came out. She marveled at that question on this night, of all nights. Taking her silence as a sign of his guilt, he stood and began to pace the small space. As she watched him she was struck by just how tormented he was. She had never realized he was hiding this well of pain from her. She crossed to him, stopping his endless circling.

"He was trying to kill you. How can you think that what you did was wrong? How can you think that you're damned for saving yourself, for saving Isabelle? You saved me too that night, you know that. If you hadn't come, Valentine was going to kill me. He had raised the sword to strike, and I can tell you he didn't care about who was blood to him and who wasn't. He'd have slit my throat if he'd thought it would bring you to his side." she cupped her hands around his face, willing him to look at her as she stared into the depths of his eyes. He kissed her hungrily when he did. It was not a kiss of intimacy, but of desperation. An insatiable need to know she was there, she was in his arms. Breaking away and gasping for air, he crushed her against him, as if trying to make them one person and said,

"By the angel, don't remind me. That sight haunts me more than any other. In my dreams I'm too late, and he finishes that swing. In my dreams I lose you forever." he sunk bonelessly onto the bed again, and she sat beside him, holding his hand in both of hers. It was a sign to him she was still there, that his dreams had not come to claim him. Not yet.

"But you weren't too late, you saved me. I'm still here." she whispered, afraid to startle him as lost as he was at the moment.

His grim smile faded quickly. "And damned or not Clary, I'd trade my soul to save you every time."

Lying back, she pulled him down beside her. Arms and legs wound together, each locked in their own dark thoughts, they fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare**

Clary woke to pre dawn darkness in the room. Her left arm was cramped under Jace's head and shoulders, completely numb. Her right was caught up under his arm, her hand warm in his. Streetlights still cast an eerie glow through the room. She rolled her head to the right, eyeing the clock on her nightstand. The soft green numbers told her it was 3:50am. She sighed, knowing Maryse would be in the training room for her own warm up and practice in an hour. The regular training would begin at six. Clary had been getting the six AM training sessions until she quit, because Jace and the Lightwoods were almost finished their training. They wouldn't be in the training room until later in the afternoon, readying for their nightly patrols. They had dropped back to just an hour or so of warm up and practice, just like Maryse and Robert, in order to give Clary uninterrupted time to catch up. Which of course, had done her no good so far. She sighed again and turned back to Jace.

He was a warm, heavy weight in her arms. It was reassuring to hold him so closely. They had spent so much time trying to deny their feelings. It still felt surreal to be able to be with him. All the pain they'd gone through over their feelings for each other, and then suddenly it was gone. Every fiber of her being said to stay there, to curl herself around him again and go back to sleep. But as much as she wanted to be here with him, she was only as comfortable as can be expected when you wake fully dressed in the middle of the night, having fallen asleep on top of your covers.

Carefully, she worked her arm out from under his head, and eased herself off of the bed. He rolled over in his sleep, disturbed by her movements. Quietly, she pulled out one of her training outfits, the soft sweat pants and fitted t-shirt that allowed her to be comfortable and yet still move freely. Gathering her clothes and her towel, she started back across the room to the small bathroom she had. As she crossed beside the bed, she stole a glance at him. His whole face was relaxed in his sleep. The tension he wore like a second skin was nowhere to be seen. He truly looked peaceful as he lay there. The dim light that filtered in from the street outside washed all the color from his hair, outlining both his tousled locks and the curve of his cheekbone in silvery light. Most of his face was in shadow, backlit by the lights outside. She felt an irresistible need to touch him. Brushing his hair back from his temple, she ran her fingertips down the strong curve of his cheek. Tenderness welled up inside her, as did a fierce protectiveness for him. Seeing him so unguarded in his sleep made her more completely aware of how much she loved him. She remembered unbidden, the way he had looked crumbled lifelessly on the sand by Lake Lyn. How her own breathing had slowed with his, wanting to stop when his did. Her mind fed her other images, ones she'd only been told of, not actually seen herself. She saw Jonathon bent over him, sinking the dagger in slowly, goading him as he pierced his heart with the cold blade. Isabelle had told her what she'd seen when she found them that night months ago. She'd told her how he'd been near death then, even before the scene with Valentine. Drawing her hand back carefully, she thought of Magnus' words. How she needed to have both the will and the strength to kill Jonathon. Looking down at Jace, peaceful in his sleep, she knew she did. Because for him, she could do anything. Like push away the will to lie down beside him to die, and still battle back against Valentine. If it meant protecting Jace, she would always find the strength. She turned away and hurried to the shower. She needed to meet Maryse, and tell her she wanted to come back to training.

Maryse looked surprised when Clary entered the training room just a little while later. Though no less formidable in her work out clothing, than in her Shadowhunters gear. Maryse Lightwood was a force unto herself. Clary marveled inwardly that the woman hadn't been able thus far to hammer her into a warrior like herself. Surely if there were any creature alive capable, it was the woman watching her approach now. All business as always, Maryse spoke before Clary had even crossed the whole of the room.

"Clary, I am glad to see you. I had planned to come to your room after my practice session." Clary saw in her mind, the vision of Jace sprawled across her bed as she'd closed the door behind her. She said a brief thanks to the Angel for her early wake up. "I've spoken to your mother, and she and I agree. We know you've been through a great deal, but we don't think it is wise that you abandon your training so easily. Now, we don't want to push you but we do think you may be expecting too much if you're allowing yourself to be discouraged by a little hardship in the beginning." Clary could almost hear her mother's voice in her head, coaching Maryse not to push too hard, so her stubborn daughter wouldn't dig her heels in. She smiled faintly at her friend's mother.

"I'm not giving up. I was coming this morning to tell you I want to come back to training. I am a Shadowhunter, it's in my blood. Running from training won't change that. I need to conquer this."

The older woman was silent, mouth slightly open as if she wanted to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Clary fought the urge to smirk. So much for their plan to handle her.

It didn't take her long to recover herself, however. "Well then, shall we?" Maryse asked, gesturing to the mat.

They lapsed into the now familiar routine of stretching. Shadowhunter warm ups were not unlike a normal warm up for any work out session, they just entailed a deeper stretch and more muscle groups. It was not uncommon to break a sweat, just attaining the positions required. Clary pushed through, feeling just the few day's absence in her resistant muscles. Maryse spoke with a light air as if relaxing poolside.

"I've given some thought to your - difficulties." she began. "I've only ever trained in one fighting manner, and as Isabelle was the only other female I trained, and she with a whip, it never came up before. When I spoke to your mother, she said that some of the women who fight with weapons like the seraph blades or daggers, take a more defensive approach to their style."

Clary's brows furrowed as she leaned over backwards, compressing her spine until she could grab her heels. In that moment, she swore she'd never skip even one day's training again. She'd noticed the changes in her body when she'd begun training. She had not realized if she stopped, it would be so quick to change back.

"It seems that they use a style somewhat like that of Aikido and Jujitsu. They use the energy of their opponents attack against them. It negates the need for a powerful attack of your own." she paused, glancing at Clary to be sure she understood. "We would incorporate your affinity for knives into that discipline. It could make you most lethal, with a very small amount of force necessary of your own. And since the force of your attack is your weakness…"

Maryse let her words trail off, waiting for Clary to respond. Clary was busy picturing herself leaping lightly out of the way of an attacking demon, like Jackie Chan always did. She grinned in response. "I like it."

Several hours later, Clary was only all the more enthused. Not one inch of her entire body wasn't sore, but she was close to delirious, she was so happy. It had taken hours to get the stances down, and only then had they started jumps, but she was actually showing promise. She knew she'd need an iratze in the morning just to be able to haul herself out of bed. She'd landed on her butt more times than not, but she was starting to turn Maryse's advances back on her.

Energized now, she bounced on her toes back and forth, back and forth, waiting for the next attack. Maryse smiled at her tenacity.

"That's enough, I think, for one day. You've done wonderfully. I think we may have found our answer, Clary." And when she met her eyes, she knew why Jace could see a mother figure in Maryse. Though she was crisp and cool, she was also gazing at Clary with genuine pride in her eyes. Clary was surprised to feel a blush of pride in herself. She'd thrown herself into this with renewed vigor because she needed to, because of Jonathon. She had not expected to enjoy it so very much, or to feel such vindication from the look Maryse was giving her now. She smiled widely as she leaped to her feet.

"So I guess I can be a Shadowhunter, afterall."

Maryse gave her a suddenly very serious look. "Clary, you've been a Shadowhunter all your life. It is a part of who you are, not something you can do. If you never went on one patrol, you'd still be a Shadowhunter. If you lived out your entire life in Idris, and were a Council member or Inquisitor, like others in your line have been, you'd still be a Shadowhunter. Is that what was bothering you?"

At first Clary had a quick reply ready, but the words died on her lips. As she looked at Maryse, she felt a knot of tension begin to uncoil. She had not even realized the fear was there, but in today's success, she had to admit that some of her joy was the feeling that she had proven to herself that she could be a part of the world Jace, the Lightwoods, and her mother lived in. So many years had been stolen and wasted. She no longer held any anger against her mother for it, but the fear had remained hidden deep within, that she would never live up to their examples.

Now she knew she was entitled to a place in their world. She could earn her place at Jace's side.

She met Maryse's eyes timidly.

"I had been afraid that there was too much time lost. That I would never be an equal to the rest of you. I think that scared me even more than the demons themselves. Being shut out of a world that everyone I love is a part of."

Maryse shook her head gently and smiled softly. "Clary, you are as much a part of this world as any one of us. And as for those that love you, you have become their world." Maryse eyed her knowingly, as if she too could see Jace's face in her head, at the words.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belong to Cassandra Clare. **

A handful of weeks flew by as Clary trained relentlessly. She barely saw anyone other than Maryse, and her only while training. She spent every possible moment in the training room, drilling herself in the art of fighting. She'd begun weapons training within a week of her first lesson and she'd excelled at the seraph blades. She fought now with one in each fist, whirling and striking from a crouch, or slashing as the attacker came for her.

After a few days of progress, Maryse had started her on the permanent Marks for speed, agility, grace, and sure- footedness. The silver scars now spanned her back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. The discomfort of receiving them had been nothing compared to their benefits. Even the sting of the Marks she'd received today, one for clear vision and one for focus, thrilled her even though it still stung. She realized she was beginning to resemble the rest of them. Soon her own scars would show her history as a Shadowhunter in silver tracery on her skin. She could feel the lightness and power they gave her; and it made her body hum with anticipation as she sought the target across the room. The light tank top she had on was too snug to brush against the tender spots on her spine where the new runes had been applied. Exposed to the air by the low back of the tank, they were cooling quickly.

Maryse had started her on throwing daggers today. According to Maryse you didn't throw away weapons until you were fairly proficient with them to begin with. She was concentrating so hard on her target, already surrounded with several of her bad throws, that she didn't hear him come in. She hadn't realized anyone was there until he spoke in her ear.

"You know, too much work makes Clary a dull girl."

With an embarrassing yipe, Clary hurled the dagger high and wide. Jace smirked satisfactorily when she turned to glare at him.

"Nice shot."

His eyes were shining with amusement as he met hers.

"You've been shut up in this room for weeks. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"So you decided to see if you could test my reflexes?" she threw at him angrily, stalking over to collect her errant daggers.

"Oh, there's no need to test them. I know you're not ready to take me on yet."

She paused for a moment as she reached for a dagger. Seizing it in her grip, she straightened slowly, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Is that right?"

There was a new light of confidence in her eyes that beckoned to him with a challenge. He broke into a feral grin. He couldn't help but taunt her.

"Please. I've seen you flitting around in here. It's not like I don't pay any attention when you're away. All I have to do is catch you." his tone was smug and piqued her pride.

"You can try." She threw back at him.

With those words, the entire mood shifted to one of two wary predators circling each other. He feinted twice to his left before lunging finally to his right. An obvious move, but before he could close on her she was gone. She'd flitted out of his grasp without even a second's notice. Brought up short, his cocky grin faltered. She'd been faster than he expected.

He lunged straight forward, putting a burst of speed into it, sure he'd snatch her before she could make it out of the way. She leaped straight into the air, somersaulting above his head and landing gracefully behind him. He noted a mild stinging in his right wrist. She was sweeping away from him again, one of the training blades in her hand. She'd caught him with it and he hadn't even known she'd had one. He looked at his wrist, disbelief plain on his face. The training blades were really just a thick rubber stick, but they carried runes to give a mild shock. It kept the trainees on their toes. Not painful, but you definitely knew when you'd been hit with one.

"That stings, you know."

Her smile was slow and deadly as it glittered at him. "I know."

He smiled disarmingly and brought his arms out to pull her to him. "Alright, that's enough games now." He reached for her but she danced away, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Who's playing?" she asked, oozing arrogance. Somewhere deep inside, his testosterone came to a rapid boil hearing that tone. Batting it down, he smiled patiently at her.

"Clary, really. It's only been a few weeks. Do you really think you're ready for this? You can't drop your guard for a second or I'll have you."

She was quite literally beaming at him as she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet.

She watched as the muscle in his jaw jumped. Knowing him as she did, she was perfectly aware it was a sign of frustration and irritation. It only emboldened her further.

"Didn't you say you could catch me?" as soon as the words were out she was on the move. His face had gone blank while she spoke and before the sentence was finished he'd already rushed at her again.

She knew how good Jace was, better than all the others, and she called on every ounce of training she'd been given and every scrap of help the runes could give her. Dodging one careening attack, she dropped the training blade she held. Scrambling, she quickly drew the two she had tucked in her waistband. Throwing herself to the right, she just managed to stay out of his reach. As she whirled out of his grasp, she caught him again with the rubber blade. She was rewarded with a mumbled curse. His eyes were now shooting sparks when she met his gaze. This time he was absently rubbing at his wrist.

And then he was lunging again. And again. And again. Every time, she danced or flew out of reach with what appeared to be minimal effort. This back and forth went on for close to an hour, and the multiple points where she'd caught him with the blades were tiny pinpricks of pain.

He was now fuming and winded. He was also astounded. He knew that Ithuriel's blood had given him enhanced physical ability. He found himself wondering if it had given her the ability to fly.

He stood across from her, hunched over with his hands on his knees. He was carefully studying her stance and her grip on the weapons, calculating the best attack. She seemed to be utterly still, but he'd thought that a few times already. His temper was further goaded by the fact that she hadn't even broken a sweat and here he was practically panting.

He stood slowly, keeping his shoulders hunched, a perfect image of defeat. She seemed to relax her guard for a moment --just a moment's hesitation.

He struck in that moment's hesitation. Launching himself through the air, he knocked her backwards, landing on top of her.

"I told you," he said, victory in his eyes, "never let your guard down." His eyes changed though, as he looked at her. The predatory light she'd been facing only a moment ago was replaced by a new one, one that she could only call hunger.

"Jace-" She started warningly.

And then he was kissing her with bruising force, and his hands seemed to be everywhere. Her mind reeled as her pulse quickly raced to catch up to his. Then she remembered that fighting was like foreplay to Jace. She was already a half hour behind him. One of his hands knotted itself in her hair, clutching her closer to him, and the other trailed along her spine, circling her hip as he grasped it firmly from inside her sweatpants. If his kiss the other night had been gentle in its tenderness, this was its opposite. There was no doubting the turn of his thoughts now as he claimed every inch of her with some part of himself. Her heart chugged into a spasmodic rhythm and she threw herself into the kiss with the same desperate need he had. She smelled soap and lemons like sunshine, just as she tasted the sweat and the salt on his skin. Her endorphins and adrenaline were not far behind his she realized, as warmth spread through her and her breathing became as heavy as his was. Gulping down his scent, she felt a heady rush from his touch anywhere his hands brushed her flesh. He clutched her against him hard and his hips ground against hers in declaration of his need. A torrent of pure desire ripped through her at the feel of his weight against her. They had been dancing around this for far too long. She felt no fear, no hesitation as she gripped his shoulders and locked her legs around his waist above her. It was a command as much as it was an invitation. His skin was hot to the touch beneath her fingertips and she knew she must be panting at least as hard as he was.

He gasped with surprise, his chest rumbling against hers as he growled her name in her ear. The hand that had held her slender hips so firmly now slid inside her stretchy tank as he trailed his mouth along her jaw, hot breath puffing against her skin.

"Did you just bite me?" she shrilled, and he had the sense to look chagrined when he met her eyes. But though his gaze was fixed, his hands were not. She caught her breath as she felt the flimsy material of her tank and bra slide away and the cool air on her freshly exposed skin.

His eyes still boring into hers, it was she who broke the trance, bucking beneath him when she felt him take her with his mouth. She arched against him as he teased her with his tongue and her vision went white against the back of her closed eyelids. She felt whatever strength she might've had to end this slip away as she fisted her hands in his hair, pulling the golden locks slightly.

"OHMYGODI'MSOSORRY" The one word, multi-syllable sentence was accompanied by a crash of weaponry as Isabelle, retreating as quickly as possible, slammed into a sword stand.

She stood there for a split second, resolutely not turning around to face them, then broke and ran from the room.

It may not have been Maryse with a fire hose, but it had a decidedly similar effect. They flew apart, both stammering. She frantically readjusted her top.

"She's probably looking for me. It's time to leave for our patrols." he continued after a pause, "I'm sorry." he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Sorry?" she intoned, incredulous.

He looked up, and when he did he was stifling laughter.

"Well okay, so I'm not sorry. But you started it." He turned and headed after Isabelle, leaving her gaping at his back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare**

Too embarrassed to come to dinner, Clary lingered over her training cool down and shower until after the rest of them had left for patrols. She hunted through leftover take out, in the vain hope of finding something tempting. Regretfully, she realized the Institute fridge was a Mecca of calories and cholesterol. Seizing two pieces of pepperoni pizza, she vowed to start a multi-vitamin as she popped them in the microwave.

She'd already downed one, burning her tongue, when the doorbell buzzed. Checking her watch, she knew it was too early for Simon. He'd still be in front of his video games, securing his reign. As she thought over the possibilities, the buzzer went off again. She dropped her uneaten slice on the counter with a woeful look. Mumbling on the virtues of patience, she opened the elevator. The bell didn't ring again as she hurried through the nave and down the long aisle. The candlelight on the walls down here always gave her the creeps when she was alone. It felt like the set of some epic battle between good and evil surrounded her in shadowy movement as the lights danced on the walls. She came to the front door feeling vulnerable because of it, hesitating with her hand on the heavy bronze latch. Hearing footsteps retreating on the stairs, she summoned her courage and threw back the bolt. Opening the door, she was astounded to see Jonathon at the bottom of the steps. At the sound, he turned back to her.

His hands shoved self consciously in his pockets, and he looked unsure of himself.

"I saw the others go. I thought maybe we could talk." He paused and looked down the street before he continued, "We could go someplace crowded if it makes you more comfortable."

She sized him up as he stood there, deliberately not looking at her. He looked so ordinary, not at all like the megalomaniac murderer she knew he was. When she didn't answer he nodded, eyes still far away.

"I understand." He made it to the bottom of the steps before she finally resolved. If she wanted more information, she'd have to go eventually. Now was as good a time as any.

"Jonathon, wait." he turned back, pale hair blown in his face from the wind. She shivered as his dark eyes fixed on hers for the first time.

"Let me get my coat." _And a battle axe_, she thought as he half smiled and nodded. She waited for him to join her, standing away from the door as invitation. He shook his head briefly.

"It's hallowed ground, I can't go in there. I'll wait here." Even she had to admit he looked pretty pitiful standing there. He actually looked sad, she thought, as she hurried back to the elevator.

Grabbing her jacket from her room quickly, she made a side trip to the weapons room. Going with him might not be the brightest thing she could do, but going unarmed would be downright stupid. She slid several Seraph blades beneath her belt and smoothed her jacket down behind her. She looked at the dagger Jace had given her and decided a Shadowhunter could carry one exposed weapon if she wanted, without arousing suspicion. She tucked it into her belt at her hip. Let him think what he'd like. It's not like he hadn't earned the reputation

When she opened the door to the street again, he was sitting at the bottom of the steps facing the street. Doubt crept into the corners of her mind, but she shoved it down again. If for no other reason, she owed this to Jace and her mother. She took a deep breath and jogged down the steps as he rose and turned to her.

"There's a Jamba Juice a few blocks away. They have a great Spice Chai Tea Latte."

He smiled and for a moment she was reminded of the day they'd spent together. He'd been Sebastian to her then and almost pleasant. She reached deep for a way to look at him without her hands trembling. They'd walked a block or so in silence before he spoke.

"So our mother's living in Idris?"

She glanced at him quickly, but he was still studying his own feet as they walked. His head was bent, hands shoved deep in his black jacket against the cold. She was surprised he'd spoken first of their mother. She'd have bet money his first question would have been about Jace.

"No. The Council asked Luke to stay, to help get the new Council set up." She scrambled for something to tell him. Surely she shouldn't be telling him how fragile the peace was right now. The rush of adrenaline after the battle had cooled. Old petty differences had begun to show themselves again in the Council chambers as each of the groups represented jockeyed for power. Luke and her mother had been caught up in the unending politics of it all for some time now. There were days when the only people anyone would listen to were Luke and Jocelyn. She missed them both, but there was no way they could leave Idris until some semblance of order had been restored.

She was surprised when he spoke again.

"I miss Idris, but I don't think I'll ever see it again. I was telling the truth when I told you that it gets inside you and it is always home. I'll miss it for the rest of my life, but I don't think I can go back. I don't think I could set eyes on the demon towers without thinking of the things I'd done. How I'd tried very hard to destroy everything there." His eyes were remote and convincingly troubled.

Was she supposed to have an answer to that_? Well, I can see how your guilt would keep you away, since you are an evil creature that doesn't deserve to live_. Probably not what he was looking for.

Mercifully, they'd reached the store, and he held the door for her. The fresh smells of juice and tea reached her just as the warmth of the store wrapped her in comfort. She felt the icy layer on her face start to thaw. Freshly baked scones sat in the display case and her stomach rumbled loudly when she smelled them. He laughed when he heard it.

"Why don't you get a table, I'll get the Spiced Chai thing. And apparently something to eat too."

Nervously, she grabbed a small table out of the way. Not only did she not want to be overheard, she didn't anyone to see them either. She watched him as he ordered and made his way back to them. He didn't look edgy, like she'd imagined. He seemed as completely at home in New York as he had in Idris. She noted he also did not appear to have the weight of the world on his shoulders as might be expected since he carried the deaths of so many innocents on his conscience. When he reached her, he handed her the tea and put two scones on the table. She eyed the one with chocolate chips lustfully.

"Thank you." she said, refusing to touch them.

He sat across from her and took a sip of the drink. With a grimace he put it on the table and dropped his hands in his lap. _Hmm, not a Chai fan_, she thought.

"Isn't there anything you want to ask me?" he asked, eyes on his cup.

"What?"

"You must have questions. Why I'm here? How did I survive?" He was looking at her now, head cocked to the side as if he expected an answer. "Do I want revenge?" His face was hard to read on that last one she thought. She arched an eyebrow as she considered her options. But then she'd never been one for games to begin with.

"Yeah, I have lots of questions. Starting with how is it you are here instead of in the pit where we left you to rot and ending with what is your sick game now?"

His face was blank for a moment before he smiled. "Well, at least you're being honest. I was afraid it would take some time to get to the real questions we both have." He sat up in the seat, and hunched towards her with his elbows on the table.

"Questions we both have?" she repeated, much like a parrot ,she realized.

"Sure. I know you can't possibly be happy to see me. You've got to be wondering what I want, and there's no way to make you believe the simple truth. And yes, I do have questions for you, if you'll answer them."

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, I'd like to know what it was like growing up with our mom." His eyes turned bitter as he went on, and his tone grew cold "After Father did what he did, I understand why she left me. I was just curious what it was like to be raised by a parent that loved you and didn't regret your very existence." He stopped and it seemed he almost forcibly wiped the expression from his face. "And I was wondering if you thought there was any way she'd ever consider accepting me."

Clary stared at him, speechless. Several nasty quick witted responses came to mind, but the pain she saw in his eyes stopped them in their tracks. And that was why she was here to begin with, wasn't it? Because she felt her mother deserved to know if her son had indeed been saved. Until she drew her last breath, she would hate Jonathan for the pain he'd caused Jace, even if he spent every second of the rest of his existence atoning for his deeds. But her mother may feel differently. And her mother deserved the right to make the choice herself, it wasn't one Clary had the right to make for her. Now it was Clary's turn to pick absently at the cup.

"I don't know what my-- what our mother would do. She seemed pretty adamant that you were, uh …who you were. That the things that Valentine did to you were irreversible. I asked her, when I thought she was talking about Jace, if there weren't any way it could have been changed or fixed. She was certain that it couldn't. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm hard to convince. Between that, the fact that you killed Max, and that you tried to kill Jace, you'll have to pardon my hesitation in throwing my arms around you and welcoming you to the family."

He sat back, appearing chastised. "I understand you have reservations. I even understand if you hate me." _Good_, she thought. "I just hope there's some way I can prove what I say. I was fed hatred and lies by Valentine. I was raised in a shack, as an embarrassment while his preferred son was raised in a rich manor." Her head snapped up involuntarily meeting his gaze. " I've never known approval or compassion. I can survive a little while longer without them. Especially if doing so earns me back a little bit of what I've had stolen from me." When he finished he was staring at her just as earnestly as he had been on that street corner when he'd made Pandora stop hurting her. She felt an unwelcome shred of doubt take shape in her conviction. She was about to ask him who he believed stole it away when a familiar voice erupted right above her head.

"What the HELL, Fray. I come to get you coffee since I haven't seen you in weeks, and I find you holed up in the corner with Rosemary's Baby!"

She looked up to Simon's outraged face, fangs showing slightly under his upper lip, just as Jonathon jumped to his feet outraged.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belong to Cassandra Clare**

"What did you just call me, Downworlder?" Jonathon hissed, his anger sharpening his face and sparking in his eyes.

Clary laid her hand on Simon's arm before he could respond. She could see him changing as his temper took hold and his vampire nature started to seep out.

"Boys, people can see us and I think it's a little too late to throw up a glamour now." She smiled apologetically at the people nearest them, each looking away as she met their gaze.

"Sit down and we'll talk." She reasoned. Simon's face swiveled to hers.

"Sit down? Sit down with this-- this--demon?" he stammered, gaping at her like she'd sprouted another head. Jonathon, for his part, was turning a fine shade of purple. She wasn't sure if it was outrage or shame, and in the middle of the crowded restaurant, she didn't really care.

"You're a fine one to talk demons, vampire. At least I can still say the holy names."

"Only for your infernal rites, you spawn of Satan" Simon fired right back.

"That's enough. Now." she warned, her tone and her eyes equally hard. "Simon, there are things you'll have to hear now, I guess. And you," she continued, rounding on her brother, "You would do well to remember that Simon is more my family than anyone you've ever met."

They both snapped their jaws shut and glared at each other. She watched as Jonathon took a deep breath and reclaimed his seat. Simon looked at her hard for a long moment before he too perched on the edge of the seat between them.

The din of the restaurant picked up around them as others resumed their own conversations.

"Some things may have changed Simon, and I needed to know more for my mother's sake." she started in.

"If he's threatening Jocelyn--" Simon started, his incisors protruding again. Jonathon once more looked ready to explode, but Clary interceded.

"No. He's here because he's changed. He's looking to know the family he was deprived of for all those years." Could Simon hear the sarcasm in her voice? Could Jonathon?

Simon looked from one of them to the other, disbelief plain on his face. Jonathon jumped to his feet in disgust.

"Look Clary, this isn't going to be easy, no matter how we do it. I'll leave now, so you can handle this however you think is best. Here's my number and my address. If you want to see me, call or come by. It doesn't matter when. I'll want to see you." He slid a folded piece of paper across the table to her. When she'd picked it up and put it in her pocket, he nodded.

"Goodbye, Clary. I hope I get to see you again." Without looking at Simon, he turned and left.

When the door had swung shut behind him, Clary slumped in her seat squeezing her eyes shut as she exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Simon's voice intruded her moment of quiet.

"What are you playing at, Clary? You don't honestly believe that line do you?"

"It doesn't really matter what I believe, Simon. I have to know if it's true, if he really has been saved, for my mother's sake. You never saw her on those nights when she'd bring out that box. She didn't even know I knew. But I did. I saw how it killed her to have lost him. If that's changed somehow, I need to know. She deserves to know."

Simon was quiet for a moment, thankfully. She took another sip of her tea, reveling in the warm spices.

"I never really believed it was as easy to be saved as those guys on the bikes made it out to be. Their flyers are full of false promises. I think eternal damnation should be harder to shrug off than that." Clary choked on the last of her tea in laughter. Simon smiled at her, his usual supportive self shining through.

"Okay, so what does Jace think?" he asked, perfectly naturally. Her eyes flashed to his, wary. "You haven't told him, have you?" Her silence was answer enough. Shaking his head he went on. "That's a bad idea, Clary. Not only do I not like you doing this alone, he's going to have an aneurysm when he finds out. And he will find out, you know that, don't you?"

" I'm not doing this alone. Magnus knows." He arched one eyebrow in response. It said plenty. "And I don't want Jace to find out because he'll rush off after him. I know he'd be justified after Max and after what Jonathon did to him. I just wanted time to find out the truth first."

"And you want to keep Jace safe. And maybe a little part of you wants to hurt him for what he did to Jace, right?" She studied her cup sleeve intently.

"I just need a little time, Simon. He's been staying with a witch, Pandora. She's saying she found a way to heal him in Valentine's old journals. A way to keep the demon at bay, make him more…human. Magnus is looking to see if what Jonathon and Pandora say is even possible. If it is, then I'll have to tell my mother. If not, I intend to kill him."

"Just like that, in cold blood? You think you'll be able to just walk up to him and take him out?"

"Yes, I know I can. I already tried." Her voice was flat, remembering the fury that coursed through her as she had brought the dagger down.

"I'm sorry? You _already_ tried to kill him? And now you're sitting here having tea together?"

Clary eyed the other cup. "Technically, he didn't drink his." The look Simon shot her was impatient at best. "Alright, fine. I saw Jonathon the night I was supposed to come over. I was crossing by the park and he was there. And I remembered it all. Everything he did, everything that happened to Jace, to everyone. And this hate and rage rose up and took over me. I was shaking with it I wanted to kill him so badly." She dropped her hands into her lap and studied her palms as if they held the answer. "I'd never felt like that before. I didn't even know I was capable of feeling such rage." When she looked up, her eyes were remote. She stared out the window, not seeing the street before her. " I had my dagger. It's the only weapon I was carrying at the time, and he had already shown me he was unarmed. I think he was going to let me, Simon. He just sat there, waiting for me to swing it at him."

"And?" he prompted when she'd fallen silent.

""And I couldn't do it. He has a witch with him, she stopped me." She left it at that. She didn't want to go into _how_ Pandora had stopped her, but a shudder ran through her at the memory nonetheless. He watched her expression as it finished out the memory in her head. She wasn't having an easy time with this, and he knew if he didn't support her, she'd shut him out and do it her way anyway.

"Alright Clary, I'll give you the time you need. But you need to promise me you won't do something stupid. You have to swear to me that when the time comes, you'll take me with you. I don't want you to go after him alone."

"Simon, I don't think--" she started in, but he cut her off.

"Have you given any thought to what your life would be like without me in it?" he asked.

"What?" She looked at him blankly, unsure where was headed.

"Have you ever considered what it would be like to have to go on with your life after something terrible happened to me, after something maybe even killed me?"

"No." she admitted softly. She couldn't really picture her life without him in it. He was a part of her.

His face was grim when he continued. "Well I have. I've had to think about what my life will be like after all of you have gone. My family, my friends-- all of you. All of you will die, and I'll still be here. I don't like it one bit. I think it was harder for me to come to terms with your eventual death than it was to accept my change in the first place. I'm not letting you do anything stupid enough to put you in danger prematurely. So those are my terms. I'll give you all the time you want. You can buy my silence with your promise not to go off on your own without me."

Clary was silent a few moments while she considered. She'd come so close to losing him already, she knew how that felt. There was no way she was ever going to be responsible for harm coming to him again.

"Alright Simon, I'll tell you when I know what I'm going to do," she agreed.

After they'd left Jamba, they were still two blocks away when they spied Alec. He had seen them first, and was flagging them frantically from across the street. He was already talking when they reached his side. Turning back towards the Institute, they had to scramble to keep up with him.

"We called your cell Clary, you didn't answer." She pulled the phone from her pocket and saw there was no life in it.

"My battery's dead," she mumbled, smacking it against the heel of her hand. As she smacked it repeatedly, she started to fall behind. Alec was nearly jogging and she was no match for his long legs.

"You shouldn't go out without a working cell. If there's an emergency, we need to be able to reach you." Clary had an uncharitable thought that he was becoming too accustomed to being the older brother and an adult in the eyes of the Council

"Is there something wrong, Alec? Your heart's racing," Simon asked, lengthening his stride to match the much taller boy's. There was a moment's hesitation and then Alec glanced at her, not Simon. A cold knot formed in Clary's stomach.

"We met a pack of Matsema demons. They're particularly vicious by nature. They're demons of hate and will fight until the death regardless of the circumstances. We were fairly outnumbered." He paused and glanced in her direction again. "It was a rough fight, but we got them all in the end."

"Well, I don't see what the emergency is then. I'm sure you've been in rough fights before. I've been there for a few myself." Simon was chattering on nervously. He never bantered with Alec like this. He could guess why Alec had come looking for them. Clary knew what was coming, but it wasn't until he looked at her and said the words that she felt the panic rise up to choke her.

"Jace is hurt."

And then Clary began to run, his words pounding in her thoughts like a frantic heartbeat.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare.**

Clary burst from the elevator before the doors had even fully opened. Racing through the halls to Jace's room, she flew through the closed door without pausing to knock.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Jace lay sprawled across the bed still in his gear which was torn and bloodied. There were great rents in the tough fabric where claws had torn through it, leaving angry red tears in the exposed flesh beneath as well. The stench of demons filled the room and she covered her nose as she fell to her knees beside the bed.

"It's the demon blood, that smell. That's what is eating the fabric also." Magnus said from the other side of the bed. He was hovering over Jace, blue sparks shooting from his fingertips as he worked to heal the injuries.

She followed his gaze and she saw what he meant. Large portions of Jace's clothes were splattered with ichor and the material was dissolving like an acid spill. Her stomach turned as she realized it was a thin boundary to breach before it reached his skin.

"Did you bring your stele?" he asked as she reached to pull the fabric away from Jace's thigh where it was looking the worst. She nodded. "I need you to do an iratze when I tell you to."

"Alec or Isabelle didn't do one yet?" she screeched, ripping it from her pocket. Bending over his forearm, she had the tip ready when Magnus shouted.

"Not yet, girl! I said when I tell you to. No, they didn't do one, they couldn't. The demons have poison on their claws. I have to be sure that all of the demon poison is out of his bloodstream before you do that. If you touch him with an angel's blade with the poison still in his system you'll tear him to pieces."

Clary froze, her arm still poised as if to apply the mark. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, pounding fast and heavy. After a few more minutes of his ministrations, Magnus nodded to her. Taking a deep breath, she willed her hand not too shake too badly as she applied the iratze. The smell of smoke wafted up to her from the burns, but if she leaned in too hard, Jace didn't show any signs of noticing. He remained still as death, and just as pale. She felt her lip tremble at the sight of his lifeless face and fought back the tears that were threatening. As she watched, the angry wounds began to heal from the rune.

"I'll leave him to you. You'll want to get him out of these clothes before the ichor chews through him too." Magnus was still watching Jace as he spoke. "He'll live, but it will probably take him some time to wake. We won't know anything more until then."

Watching him, she could see Magnus was drained. Dating a Shadowhunter was taxing business alright, she thought to herself.

After he left, she set about the dirty business of Jace's wasted gear. First removing his heavy boots and tossing them aside, it took her several minutes to shimmy his pants down his long legs. She mused to herself how she'd never thought this would be the way she'd get them off for the first time, but she should've known. Stealing a glance at his torn and bloodied form, the humor left her. This was not just some patrol gone badly. Jace had been battling for his life.

The door cracked open behind her and she turned at the intrusion to her thoughts. Isabelle was peeking in, her face somber.

"Do you need help with him?" she asked, her voice soft. Clary nodded without speaking and Isabelle slipped inside.

"I've never seen anything like it," She whispered. "It was like they were fixated on him. Of course, it could've been because he jumped right into the middle of them like he always does, distracting them from Alec and I." She was watching Jace thoughtfully, as if she wasn't sure if she believed that herself.

"He's just dead weight, Izz. I don't think I can get his shirt off myself." They moved to opposite sides of the bed and started removing his weapons.

"He never thinks, he just rushes in to be the hero." Isabelle was mumbling as she eyed the ichor covered shirt with distaste.

"He doesn't want you and Alec hurt." Clary felt the need to defend him even though she agreed with Isabelle.

"Well, look what it got him. We should let Simon do this. That would serve him right." Clary stifled her laugh.

"Speaking of Simon, what's going on with you two?"

Isabelle met her eyes briefly before going back to the task at hand. She wrinkled her nose as she grabbed a handful of shirt that was particularly covered. The density of the material was what protected Jace, but it was also making it twice as hard to get the noxious thing off of him. They tugged it over his head together and Clary bundled it with the pants and put them in the trashcan. The entire thing would have to go as soon as possible, if there was to be any hope of getting rid of the smell.

"I don't know. He's been acting strangely lately, even for him. He keeps talking about getting as much time with us as possible. I think he's having some trouble with the whole undead thing. Can you take it from here? Naked Jace is your thing, not mine. Besides, Simon brought coffee and I could really use some." Clary nodded absently, still considering Isabelle's thoughts on Simon's undead issues. Isabelle left quietly, with one last glance at Jace.

Going into the bathroom, she brought back wet towels to wash the majority of the blood and gore from him. It took her some time to scrub away all of the dried blood. When she was finished she tossed the ruined towels in with the rest of his gear. She threw a spare blanket over him and cracked the window to let out the smell. With a last glance over her shoulder, she took the can and closed the door behind her.

She found the others in the kitchen after she'd disposed of the toxic clothing. They were seated around the table and as she joined them, a fresh cup of coffee from Dean & Deluca materialized before her.

"Thanks," she acknowledged Magnus before fixing Alec with her glare. "What happened? He looks like he was put through a meat grinder and neither one of you has a scratch on you." Alec paled at the insinuation, but Isabelle flushed to the roots of her dark hair.

"What--" she started to stammer out, but Magnus cut her off.

"Mastema demons are hate demons, Clary. They are usually summoned by a very powerful being and dispatched with one task in mind, to kill. They are demonic assassins. If Jace drew their focus when he attacked, it is not surprising that he would bear the brunt of the injuries. They are very focused creatures."

"How powerful do you have to be to summon them?" she asked. Her pointed stare told him what she was really asking and he shook his head in denial."It can take decades to harness the kind of power it takes to summon a Mastema. I would say it has to be a very powerful witch or warlock, not your average caster."

Alec sat back in the chair when Magnus finished speaking. "So we find the warlock and turn him over the Clave. It can't be that hard. Three Shadowhunters and the High Warlock of Brooklyn. They can't be that powerful, can they?" The look on Magnus' face told Alec how ridiculous that statement was, but it was Clary who spoke.

"Three Shadowhunters? Jace can't go out like this. We don't even know yet how bad he's hurt physically. He's going to have to rest before he can go back out. I know he's not going to like it, but--" Alec cut her off.

"I meant you, Clary. Jace himself was impressed with your progress. He said he could barely catch you. I assumed you'd want to come back to the patrols now."

Clary weighed her options as she sipped her coffee. She hadn't wanted to leave Jace alone even this long, in case he woke while she was away, but there were several things clamoring her attention now. At this point, she felt like there were just too many things for her to address at once. Simon saw her hesitation and spoke.

" Why don't Maia and I look for the warlock? Two Downworlders looking for another one is a lot less suspicious than Shadowhunters."

Isabelle and Clary spoke in unison, "Absolutely not." Simon sat back, eyebrows climbing as he looked at their equally adamant faces. Magnus hid a smirk behind his cup before he chimed in.

"I think that's an excellent idea," he looked at Clary, "No offense, princess, but tension and violence are literally rolling off of you these days. You won't get far in a subtle quest. Plus, you'll be needed here, to heal the sick."

Isabelle spoke immediately, "I can go with Simon." he shook his head gently, meeting her eyes as he replied."No, I think it's better I take Maia for this one, Izz." Some of the light went out of her eyes with his words and she nodded once coldly. "Fine, take the werewolf."

Pink spots rose in her cheeks and her chair made a screeching sound on the tiles as she jumped to her feet and stormed out. Simon looked at the table, his shoulders slumped.

"Well vampire, you may have eternity but we do not. Best get moving," Magnus said and stood. Snapping his fingers with a flourish he added, "Away, children."

"Wait, what am I doing?" Alec asked, finally dropping his glare from the top of Simon's head. Magnus' smile split his face, mischief oozing out of every pore.

"Oh, you're coming with me." Alec's face went from white to crimson in the space of a heartbeat, but he took the outstretched hand.

"What's with you and Isabelle?" Clary asked when they'd all gone.

"Nothing. I just think it's better I take Maia for this," he murmured without looking up. "She's not as--breakable--as Isabelle."

Clary laughed, "Are we talking about the same Isabelle?"

Simon's face surprised her with its bitterness when he looked at her. "Yes, very much so."

She sat another minute alone after he left, wondering what had happened to the close knit group that had fought together just a short time ago. Then she returned to Jace's room, wanting to be there if he woke.

It was dark, but she could just barely make out the outline of furniture and doorways. She took the spare clothes she kept in his bottom drawer and changed, gently lying down beside him when she was finished. Drinking in his profile, she realized the soft rise and fall of his chest was the only noise in the room, the only confirmation he was alive. She shifted to her side so she could watch him and took his hand in hers. Minutes later she was asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: The Mortal instruments belong to Cassandra Clare.**

Clary kept her eyes closed as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. She was extremely comfortable, but she made a mental note that the light seemed to be coming from the wrong side of the room. That was when she remembered where she was. Just as she did, a warm hand snaked its way across her midsection and she was pulled against Jace's side. He leaned in close and she could feel his lips on her ear when he spoke.

"I know you're awake, your breathing changed." His breath tickled her and she could smell toothpaste and soap on him when she inhaled. "Besides, now you're smirking like you know something I don't."

"I thought you were going to be unconscious for days."

"Hmmm, no such luck. Next time let Alec or Isabelle do the iratze if you're sick of me. Yours are much stronger, remember?" His smile showed in his voice, and she rolled onto her side to face him. As she did, he slid his hand beneath the bottom of her shirt, his fingers stroking the small of her back in lazy circles. She felt her heart lurch as it skipped a beat. His head was propped up on one hand and he was smiling down at her. The light filtering through the blinds caught his tawny locks and framed his head with a halo of gold. She realized his hair was still damp from his shower, curling around the nape of his neck , darker curls than the top, which was almost dry. He was wearing only a pair of the gray sweats he slept in. When she met his eyes, they were half lidded and his face wore a dreamlike expression.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Well, rather like a piñata the day after the party, but I'll live apparently." His mouth turned up at the corner as he fought a smile. Lowering his head, he ghosted his lips against hers ever so lightly. "I could get used to this though," he murmured.

She gasped when her heart, already beating faster, took off like a freight train. His palm, warm and strong against her back, pressed her closer to him. She folded herself around him, running her free hand across the scarred terrain of his bare shoulders and twining it into the curls at the base of his neck. With that simple act of encouragement, he leaned into her hungrily, his weight transferred partially to her as he deepened the kiss. When she snagged his lip between her teeth, it was his turn to stifle a moan. His hand left her back and skittered across her ribcage, his touch sparking a blaze in her core. She sucked in a breath as his fingers found their mark and closed on the soft flesh there. His thumb gently circled one tender peak until the other cried out from its neglect. Her breathing was now coming in shallow drags and she clutched at him, pulling him closer, gasping against his mouth as his lips crushed hers. Deftly avoiding her frantic attempts to hold him there, he trailed his lips over her jaw and down her throat. Feeling his mouth close gently on the neglected partner, the blaze he had started broke free and consumed all rational thought. She realized she was dangerously close to writhing against him. Not to be outdone, she dropped her hands down his back and slid them beneath the waistband of his pants. Taking a firm hold of his hips, she felt his pulse hammering against the heel of her hands. She suddenly wished even that small amount of material didn't stand between them. She pushed at the fabric, and with a small sound at the back of his throat, he shuddered and pulled back from her. She locked herself around him like a steel trap, unwilling to be separated. When he spoke he was panting and she could see the effort he was expending to get himself under control.

"Clary, I don't want--"

She shifted her hips slightly against him, and another tremor rocked him as his eyes fluttered closed against his will. "Yes, you do want," she corrected.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly and tried to clear his thoughts. "Good God Clary, don't do that again." he croaked. "I don't want to do anything you're not ready for. I don't want you to feel like I was pressuring you. It's just, when I woke up next to you, and then after my shower. Seeing you lying there, in my bed…" His voice trailed off as his eyes became dark again.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, wanting to be as close to eye level with him as possible. "Do you have what we need to be smart about this?" she asked, fixing him with her eyes so he couldn't look away. He nodded, as he flushed deeply.

"I got them when you came to stay here, just in case….," his voice losing steam again, this time in embarrassment.

"Then I want to show you how ready I am," she said, never taking her eyes from his, and pulling him back down to her.

*** * ***

"You're sure this is what you want?" he asked her, his eyes bright and shining, his hair hanging partly in his face as he stared down at her. He'd come back, sliding into the empty space he'd left, after taking the necessary precautions. She felt the warmth of his flesh on hers as he held himself above her. Everywhere their bodies touched tingled warmly with anticipation. There were no more boundaries between them, save one, and if she was completely honest, she was a little scared. Biting her lip, she looked into his eyes and realized he was nervous too. She nodded, never breaking his gaze, as he lowered himself to her. After a moment of hesitation for them both, the slight pain faded quickly. She held tightly to him as it passed, and she realized he was trembling beneath her touch. Now Jace filled her as well as surrounded her.

"Earth to Clary! Have you heard a thing I said?" Magnus' booming voice interrupted her thoughts and she snapped back to the present moment.

"What? What did you say?" She mumbled, cheeks flaming as they all stared at her. Jace's knowing grin made her want to swing a chair at him. "No, I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry." She sought refuge in the folded hands in her lap.

"Well pay attention, unless there's something else you'd rather be doing." Her eyes flew to his and he winked as he turned back to the others. Just then she had the horrifying thought that they all knew. But she knew that was ridiculous, of course. She warily scanned their faces anyway. Alec's eyes were focused on every move Magnus made. Isabelle was shooting daggers at Maia who was sitting beside Simon, looking bored. Simon, for his part, was stealing glances at Isabelle whenever he thought she wasn't glaring at him. She rolled her eyes at Jace, who had waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively when she'd reached him. _He's recovered his arrogance nicely_, she thought to herself.

"I said," Magnus started in again, "That Simon and Maia tracked the warlock responsible for the Mastema demons to a warehouse in the industrial area downtown."

Simon cleared his throat and peered under his lashes at Isabelle before speaking. "Maia has a friend who gave us the address. Apparently he's newer to the area, but he's made himself quite a reputation. None of the Downworlders there will go anywhere near the place and it's supposedly protected with warding spells."

"It's a man?" Clary asked, sitting up straighter. This surprised her, part of her had thought it would be a woman...well Pandora, really.

Simon looked grateful to have a friendly face to look at when he turned to her. "They're certain it's a man. He comes and goes at odd times, but doesn't stay more than a few hours at a time. He must be living somewhere else, but they have no idea where. Again, they're giving him a wide berth."

Clary chewed her lip. Her mind was drawing a blank. She'd been so sure that it had been Pandora when Magnus said it couldn't be Jonathon that she had almost rushed out then.

"Well, daytime would be the best time to check up on him. Warlocks don't like the bright light of day, so if he's staying somewhere else, it's probably empty now." Jace stood as he spoke and absently checked the seraph blades in his belt. When he called her name for the second time, Clary shook herself from the trance she'd fallen into watching his hands Meeting his eyes, she glowered at his smirk.

"Yeah, sure good idea," she muttered, trying not to throw him a dirty look. As they were leaving, he pulled her back to him with a hand on her waist.

"I'm thinking about it too. I'm just better at hiding it," he whispered to her, glancing quickly at her face and then away. She fumed inwardly that this proximity to him flooded her with such intense feeling. Since this morning, every glance had felt charged with additional meaning. The mere weight of his hand on her hip as it was now had her flushing with the memory of his hands on other places. She barely recognized herself. She threw him her coldest glare.

"Yeah well, maybe you've just had more practice at it than I have."

His eyebrows shot up all the way to his hairline in surprise, and he gave her a strange look before making a non-committal sound deep in his throat, "Mmphmm"

Simon had gotten Eric's van again since it was available immediately and as they piled out of it, they stared at the hulking gray building. For Clary, it was a very long ride trying not to be hyper aware of Jace next to her, and also trying not to see the Isabelle, Simon, Maia saga playing out in front of them.

The building's exterior was neglected, the newer gray paint peeling back in large sections to reveal another dull layer beneath. Most of the surrounding buildings were abandoned, and the place had a very eerie feel, enough to raise the hairs on the back of Clary's neck. Alec pointed towards the alley between the their building and the one next to it. There was a side entrance with a crumbling stairway. The door swung open after they applied an opening rune. The interior stunk of demons and something else Clary couldn't place.

"Hell mist …and magic," Jace said, leading the way in, his face showing his disgust. The floor was marred in places from flames or something worse. Several pentagrams were marked there, different runes ringing each of them. Looking at them made Clary's head ache after just a moment. Each had been carved as a summoning device, ringed also with containment spells. Magic and runes overlapped in exhausting patterns. Her mind couldn't pick between them to see where one started and another ended. She felt her stomach roll, in protest to the atmosphere in the building. She spotted an armchair in the far corner, set beneath a shaft of light from the high windows overhead. Jace and the others had fanned out, looking for something to identify the warlock, something they could use to find him. Clary couldn't think about that right now, she wasn't sure she was going to be able keep from passing out. As she got closer to the chair, she noticed a side table with a lamp and a very familiar looking book. The cold shock of recognition pumped ice water through her veins as she looked at the brown leather binding. It looked like one of a set of matching journals she'd seen once before. Suddenly clear headed, her heart was beating rapidly, pounding in her chest. She thought surely the others could hear it, but they seemed oblivious to her as they searched the rest of the building. Jace and Alec had begun following the metal catwalk that crisscrossed the building high overhead. She watched as they rounded a corner in the L shaped interior. Simon, Isabelle and Maia had spread out in different directions on the first floor. They were inspecting the pentagrams and the work table that was scattered with debris. Simon was checking a shelving system in the far corner, that had mystery powders and jars with things floating inside. Clary tried hard not to focus on the brown liquid, much less on the dark shadows within them. She made her way to the table and chair, and had just managed to push the book aside and block it with her backpack as Simon turned to her.

"Clary, you ok?" his face was tense and he was watching her carefully. Of course, he _could _hear her heartbeat.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she mumbled as she rummaged in her bag, careful not to meet his eyes. "It just stinks in here. I need some water, that's all. There's some in my bag." she pulled things out of her bag by the handful, dropping them on the book to obscure it as she talked. He looked at her doubtfully, but then went back to searching the building. She quickly downed a gulp of her water, running her finger beneath the jacket of the journal as she did so. Cracking the cover, her things slid to the tabletop. For the first time, she read the phrase she'd heard spoken twice over.

'_Notes on my son, Jonathon Christopher' _The words, she knew, were written by her father's own hand. She'd read that serial killers and psychopaths had easily identifiable, erratic writing. Her father's was quite neat and orderly. A very practiced, educated hand it seemed. Flipping it closed, she made a show of gathering her things and dropping them back into the bag. She threw the book in as well, and yanked the zipper closed. No sooner had she reached Simon's side than she heard Jace and Alec pounding back along the catwalk, their footfalls rattling the suspended metal.

"Someone just pulled up across the street, they're headed towards the building," Alec said as they clamored down the stairs. As a group, they raced to the back exit where Simon had stashed the van.

They burst through the door, the chilly air a welcome change from the dank smell inside. Bolting to the van, Simon was starting it up even as they pulled the door shut, and was gunning the ancient engine as he sped down the back drive and into the service alley beside the building. Clary threw a glance out the window and thought she saw a figure rushing down the side steps just as the van turned the corner out of sight. From the distance she couldn't make him out, but she knew it had to be Jonathon. The journal had been the identifying piece they were looking for. It was the only thing he'd left behind that could be linked directly to him. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she had been the one to find it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Discalimer: The Mortal Instruments belongs to Cassandra Clare**

Clary closed the door to her room when they returned to the Institute, throwing the lock to be sure no one would surprise her. She pushed her charcoals and sketch pad aside on her desk and pulled the journal from her backpack. For a moment, she stared at the book, her father's journal on the experiments he performed on his own son. It made her blood run cold to know this was Valentine's confession, of a sort. She sat in the chair and braced herself. She opened to the middle, not interested in reading of his exploits on her brother as an infant. There were pages upon pages of entries with a date and another description of Jonathon's predilection for domestic animals. Several entries detailing his super-human strength. It seemed as proud as her father was of the "specimen" he built based on his abilities, he was almost equally as pained about the loss of her brother's humanity.

_April 19-- Today Jonathon discovered my laboratory with my other test cases. If I'd feared a child's revulsion to suffering, my fear was in vain. I was forced to remove him from the vampire's cage. He was so fascinated with the variance of screams the holy water could create when alternated with…._

She didn't need to continue with that entry; she shuddered and moved on. And then she found what she was looking for. What Jonathon himself must have been looking for.

_October 17-- Jonathon appears to have too much of a demonic nature to be a Shadowhunter. He may share blood with Jocelyn and me, but he is no more our child than the Downworlders I seek to destroy. The Lady of Edom had said the blood would burn out the humanity in him and I had taken that to mean his weakness. It is true, he has no weaknesses I've discovered, but he is more monster than boy. He has the powers of Children of Lilith, as his demon blood would allow, but he shows no outward signs to demostrate his altered humanity. The infusion of the blood has worked changes I had not foreseen, making him more deadly and less useful. I have been able to block his powers of magic with runes for the time being, but I fear for the future. I fear also that he may not be sterile, as the crossbreeds are. He appears to be completely human in form, with all the demonic strength I had intended. I seek now only to control him enough to bend him to my will. If I can hold him to my course, then perhaps I will be able to find an answer in future as to these questions._

Clary closed the book, heaving a sigh . So much for Jonathon's reformation. She knew now, without a doubt, that Jonathon was the warlock. She had no idea how he managed to tap into his powers or how he was able to summon demons that Magnus felt should take decades of training to summon, but it didn't matter. He had. And he had sent them after Jace. She was certain now that it had been no accident. As if thinking of him had summoned him, there was a knock on her door and Jace's voice came through muffled.

"Clary? Your door is locked."

She closed the journal and quickly pulled her sketch pad over it, scattering papers as she did so. Satisfied it wouldn't be noticeable, she opened the door. What she saw surprised her. Jace looked almost….nervous. His eyes met hers briefly, then dropped to the floor again.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." she said, brows furrowed as she stared at him in confusion.

His eyes continued to roam the room, unable to settle on any one particular object, never once meeting hers.

"Did I do something wrong, Clary?" he mumbled to the floor. She gaped at him. He looked positively dejected, as if he was already dreading the answer. She took a step closer.

"Why would you think that? Of course not." she said trying to meet his eyes.

He turned his back to her and stared out the window. The afternoon was deepening to evening and the streetlights were coming on despite the fact that the sun had not yet set.

"It's just, after this morning…" he trailed off, starting over, "At Magnus' you seemed angry with me, and then you said…" again he drifted off, "And just now, your door was locked. You never lock your door. Are you sorry… , "He hesitated again, "Do you-- regret-- what happened?" he finally forced the words out, furiously studying the streets below. A soft laugh escaped before she could clamp down on it, and she quickly crossed the room to him.

"My God, is that what's wrong with you?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You were scaring me. How could you think that? No, I don't regret it. At Magnus' I just felt stupid and then you were taunting me. I was simply snapping back. It's a little embarrassing to know it's not as new to you, that you're used to feeling like this." she said.

Jace spun in her arms, looking down at her with eyes that were bright and relieved. He cupped her face with one hand, gently outlining her lips with his thumb as he spoke.

"Is that what you think? That I'm well practiced and this morning meant nothing? As if that could ever mean nothing. But with you, even more so. "

"I just always thought.." now it was her turn to drop her eyes. He cupped her chin, forcing her to look back up at him.

"Clary, I know what people think. And I'm not claiming I'm a saint. But Valentine taught me the tenets of being a Shadowhunter. At the top of the list are honor, duty and respect. There's not much honor or respect involved in hopping from bed to bed."

She didn't have a response for him, but her cheeks flushed as she realized what he was saying, and how she'd mistakenly treated him. Jace watched realization dawn on her and smiled as he leaned in to kiss her. Just before their lips met he whispered, "It was a first for me too."

She leaned into the kiss, running her hands inside his shirt and up his back to his strong shoulders. One of his hands slid into her hair and his other arm wrapped around her waist, and held her tight. Just as the kiss was evolving into more, the door swung open and in walked Isabelle.

"We're getting Chinese. What do you want?" she asked, ignoring their activity.

Jace broke the kiss, but didn't pull away. Resting his forehead against Clary's, he drew a deep breath and huffed, "Isabelle, you have the _worst_ timing."

After dinner, they each chose a different seat in the common area to collapse in. Isabelle sat prim and irritated, in a purple velvet wing chair, glaring with open hostility at Maia as she sat on the couch. It had become a habit. Simon sat on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Maia as he could get, never once looking at either girl. Instead, Simon's eyes were glued to Jace's fingers as they absently skimmed Clary's calf inside her jeans from his seat on the floor in front of her. And though she gave an air of indifference, with her other leg tucked up beneath her as she read one of the books Magnus gave her, her free hand was absently fingering Jace's errant waves. There was an air of possessiveness in the way they sat together, some part of them touching at all times. Something about them seemed different, as if something with them had changed if he could just put his finger on it. Then he looked at Isabelle while she was glaring back at him, and he forgot all about them.

"What is your problem? Why are you such a bitch?" Maia demanded, finally having enough of the charged silence between them. Isabelle's tone was glacial as she appraised Maia with condescension. "Interesting choice of words. But wouldn't the bitch in this scenario be you?"

Maia's mouth hung open in shock, but Simon could hear her pulse quickening as it grew into rage. All eyes turned to the two girls, and Magnus announced gleefully,

"Oh look, it's going to be dinner _and_ a show."

Alec chimed in before it could escalate, "Enough, Izzy. Simon and Maia are doing us a favor, after all. It's our job to find this guy, not theirs. If they can take the time to help us, we should be grateful." Simon couldn't decide if there was sarcasm in the speech or not. Apparently neither could Isabelle because she sat back, her mouth snapping shut audibly. Maia's temper was off and running, but with Alec's words, she bit it back as best as she could. Simon decided he should wade in before they started in again.

"Look, we know he's not going to go back to the warehouse, not when he knows we were there today. Maia and I are going to see if we can find anything out tonight downtown. We'll let you know what we turn up tomorrow." Simon flinched a little at the look on Isabelle's face, but he tried to keep his face even. He stood, motioning for Maia to join him.

Clary called after him as they reached the elevator, "Be careful, Simon."

Smiling back at her, he watched as Jace's head stayed bent with his eyes on the book, his hand curled around Clary's ankle. "See ya, bloodsucker." Not answering, he frowned in puzzlement. The answer was right there, but he knew he wasn't seeing it all.

Isabelle stood angrily when the doors shut on Maia and Simon. "I'm going on patrol. I'm not going to sit around and wait for them to call us," she hissed, and left. Jace stood next and Clary and Alec both looked at him.

"I might as well get ready too," he said, looking at Clary. "Are you coming with us?" he asked.

She thought of the journal on her desk, of Simon and Maia headed off to find her brother even now. She shuddered at the thought of Simon anywhere near Jonathon.

"No, I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to lay down," she said, praying he wouldn't see in her face that it was a lie.

His eyes darkened with concern. "Are you alright? Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well?"

"Oh for God sake, Jace. A headache isn't a national emergency," Alec interrupted. "Let her get some rest. You should stay with her though. You had a bad enough time with the Mastemas last night. Maybe you should sit this one out."

"Forget it, Clary's iratze worked wonders, I'm good as new. Besides your parents left for that council vote last night. You're shorthanded, you need me," he argued. Knowing she'd never get away if Jace stayed home, she chimed in.

"You know he's never going to listen, Alec. Just make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, okay?" she said, gesturing with dismissal to Jace.

With no one to side with him, Alec shrugged, and the boys went to get dressed. As she left the room herself, she noticed Magnus watching her thoughtfully. Afraid he'd see through her too easily, she looked away as she kept going.

Once in her room, she weighed her options. Obviously Jonathon knew they'd been there this afternoon. Someone else might feel threatened by that, but she had the feeling he would be waiting for her. He'd have seen the missing journal. Maybe he'd be expecting Jace? She'd find out soon enough though. It would take Izzy and the boys some time to get going, so she had a little time before she'd be able to get ready. Crossing to her desk, she pulled out her notebook and a pen. Hoping he'd never read it, she started writing a letter to Jace.

A little over an hour later, she watched as Jace made his way across the street with Isabelle and Alec. If he'd suspected anything when he'd come to say goodbye, he didn't let it show. Of course, he'd never before had any reason to suspect she was lying to him. Turning to her closet, she rummaged until she found the gear she'd left buried in the back. Pulling it out, she eyed the clothes with apprehension. Was she being too presumptuous to wear them tonight? True, her training had gone very well. But did she really have the right to wear them now? Maryse had never brought it up, never suggested she go back to patrols. She remembered the time Isabelle had seen her in them, the look on her face, and Jace's also, when he'd seen her. They'd paled as if she'd struck them.

Still, she'd probably need the protection of the heavy gear. Need won out over apprehension and she shrugged the heavy shirt on over her light tank. Sliding out of her pants, she shoved her feet into the thick plated pants as well. She put her stele in its loop on her belt and then looked balefully at the multitude of loops and pockets on both the pants and the arms of her gear. She took Jace's dagger out of her drawer and slid it into its place at her hip also. With a last second consideration, she tucked her letter into the journal, at the entry about Jonathon's powers. Jace would only find it if she failed. If she did, he'd need to be warned.

Her boots made little sound as she made her way to the weapons room. She intended to fill every single loop and pocket with something useful. She knew Jonathon was human so it might not be as damaging, but she coiled an electrum whip around her wrist. Angels blades, throwing knives and another dagger made their way onto her waistband. She tucked several throwing knives in the other loops on her pants, as well as angel blades. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the far wall, she sucked in a breath. She looked like one of them, a Shadowhunter. She actually looked like one of them outfitted for a war. It was as she was staring at her reflection that she remembered. Runes. She would need to mark herself since there was no one to help her. What if she forgot one? She pushed that thought away and tried to remember the things she'd studied. After a minute of searching her memory, she hiked her pant leg up over her knee. Carefully, she started the first rune to come to mind, stealth. It went slowly, but she watched it sink into her skin as she'd seen happen to others when they were finished. She thought she felt a brush of power as it sunk into her skin. With renewed confidence, she replicated every other rune she could think of. Healing, protection, strength, balance, flight, light-footedness, all lined her calves within minutes. Her body felt lighter, faster and stronger. She felt like she could run the entire way to the warehouse without getting winded or breaking a sweat. She smiled to herself, knowing she wouldn't have to run. She checked her image over once more in the mirror. She was armed to the teeth and she'd applied every rune for battle she could think of. The faint smell of burnt skin lingered, as did the sting on her flesh. She was as ready as she could be. Opening her cell phone, she texted an apology to Simon for breaking her promise, and then zipped the cell into a pouch on her pant leg. She slid the stele from her belt and held it arm's length. Tracing a large arc, she continued it as her arm swept first up, then downward. Standing back when she was done, she stared into the swirling murkiness with a trace of fear. Then she took a deep breath and stepped into the portal.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belong to Cassandra Clare**

Clary managed to stay on her feet when she burst through the portal. But she only narrowly escaped the bushes and chain link fence across the street from the warehouse. It was dark, more so than usual. She noticed all of the lights in the area had been broken out, glass littered the ground in even intervals all the way to the side door. With a silent prayer to the Angel for strength, she started the trek across the darkened street, picking her way as silently as possible. With her eyes on the windows as she slid down the alley, she noticed the lights were at full blaze. So he was here; she'd expected as much. The men in her family were nothing if not predictable in their arrogance. She drew her stele as she reached the door, expecting to find the door locked, but it swung inward freely when she tried the knob. Quickly replacing her stele, she instead drew two of her throwing knives and tightly grasping one in each fist, blades facing away from her body.

Easing the door open further with the toe of her boot like she'd seen Jace do, she edged in sideways, pressing herself up against the wall. Nothing rushed her as she scanned the room; she didn't see Jonathon anywhere. The entire first floor clear to the bend was empty of any signs of life.

"It's customary to knock before you break and enter, but since you were already here once today, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Aren't you a little old to be playing dress up though?" Jonathon's voice called down from the catwalk over head.

"You left your door unlocked, I didn't have to break, just enter. That's not a good idea in this neighborhood you know, someone could just come in here and kill you." she answered, her voice hardening with hate at the sight of him. He gave her a wide smile full of sincerity.

"I really doubt that, little sister."

"So we're dropping the act, then? No more poor sad brother just wants his family back?" she asked, pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps further into the room. He looked genuinely disappointed when he answered her. "I wouldn't put it quite like that. It's not that I don't want my family back. Or at least, you." taking hold of the steel railing, he hopped over it the way clubbers would hop a velvet rope, and landed lightly several feet away from her. Clary swallowed hard and pushed away the tremor of fear that threatened her. She'd almost taken Jace after all, and she'd seen him jump off the Institute roof. She didn't have to beat Jonathon, she just had to stay out of his reach until he tired out on his own. His eyes never left hers as he continued, "I think we'll just have to bring you around to my way of thinking."

** * * ***

Jace watched as Isabelle checked the caller ID on her cell again before scowling and slamming it back in her pocket.

"Maybe you should answer it, Izz. He seems awful persistent, maybe it's important." Alec suggested. Her withering glare stopped the words of agreement on Jace's lips.

"I don't care if he's caught fire, I'm not going to talk to him. And if it were important, he'd call one of you two." she snapped, reaching into her pocket to press the ringer off again. Alec looked at Jace, who just shrugged in response. He didn't know what Simon and Isabelle were fighting about, but he certainly didn't want to get sucked into it. Not that it was very hard to guess with Simon's new gal pal tagging around all the time. Before they reached the end of the block, Isabelle was ranting again. It had been a ranting night for her.

"Where are all the beasties anyway? I couldn't feel more like killing something."

Alec looked at her sympathetically. "Want to try Pandemonium? There's usually a rogue vamp--never mind," he muttered as she turned the icy blue slits on him again. Jace had to fight the laugh that was rising up, but went stony faced when she fixed him in her gaze too.

They'd already worked their way in a loop around the city and found nothing. It was almost eerily quiet, like the city's demon inhabitants had collectively decided to stay in. None of them felt like Pandemonium, not after the Mastemas. Now that the Downworlders who loved the place were equally responsible to keep it clean, it was rarely a trouble spot anymore anyway.

Jace found himself looking forward to getting back, to check on Clary. Once again it hit him how much she had changed him. Before her he'd have been driving them on, spoiling for a fight just to let out his pent up energy. Instead he was drifting along beside them, anxious to get back to her.

Turning the corner, he was the first one to see Simon. An impossibly pale dot in the distance a few blocks up, standing in front of the Institute. He looked agitated, pacing back and forth gesturing wildly. _What could possibly be wrong now? _Jace wondered to himself. Most people mellowed some when they had eternity stretched before them. Simon just seemed to get more anal retentive. Isabelle's phone rang in her pocket again beside Jace and Simon's head whipped up, his preternatural hearing picking up the ring even from this distance. It happened very quickly after that. One second he was registering that Simon had started towards them, the next he was being slammed against the brick wall of the building behind him and while Simon screamed in his face. He couldn't catch everything at first; after all it was very disorienting to suddenly find oneself the target of an enraged vampire. One who was inches from your face, fangs distended. When the shock wore off and the buzzing from his head smacking the bricks had subsided, the first thing he heard was Isabelle shrieking obscenities at Simon from somewhere to his left. Then he caught the tail end of Simon's last sentence.

"--her, I'll kill you myself. I swear I'll kill you myself." he was hissing into Jace's face, not even an inch away, fangs bared. Isabelle and Alec managed to pry him off just as Maia jogged up.

"What the hell is your problem, Simon? What are you talking about?" But Simon didn't hear him. He was so enraged, Jace could see the fresh blood he'd fed on coloring his face, the veins in his neck standing out as he worked to control himself as he continued his tirade.

"I don't get it, I don't know what it is about you. Ever since you've met her you've dragged her into one dangerous situation after another. She's almost died more than once because of you. And now this. I don't get it, I'll never figure out why, but she'll do anything for you, won't she?" he was screaming so loudly lights were going on in the surrounding buildings, people yelling out their windows for quiet.

Jace suddenly went very still. He could think of only one thing that would make Simon this angry. There was only one thing in this world Simon had ever wanted badly enough to kill for it was Clary herself. But why would she have told him? Wasn't what they'd shared something for them alone? Watching Simon quaking with rage before him, Jace actually felt a little bit sorry for him. A very little bit.

"Look Simon, you know it's not like that. You know I'm not using her, that I love her. I could never use her like _that_," he found himself blushing slightly as Simon and the entire assemblage realized what he was saying.

Simon's jaw dropped and he paled, choking on words he couldn't even force out. "You-- you…and now she's…" he stammered. Any other time it would have been funny, but the pain on his face had Jace reaching towards him, to try and make him understand. Jace never got a chance though. With a deafening roar, Simon threw himself on him.

The first swing connected with his jaw and stars reeled in his vision just as he felt himself falling backwards Simon landed on top of him, raining down blows in a blind fury. He was screaming things again, but Jace couldn't hear any of it as he reflexively fought back, feeling his own punches connect with ribs, jaw, and gut. He caught a right hook and knew it would become a black eye, might even swell shut. And then something small and dark flew at Simon from the right, knocking him off of his perch on top of Jace. Hissing, Simon rounded on his attacker, but recoiled when he saw it was Isabelle, her whip at the ready. Her eyes were blazing as she stood over him. One look at her, and Simon's fangs retracted. His rage sputtered and went out.

"Don't. Touch. Him. Again." she enunciated each word as if it were its own sentence. "Why is it such a big deal, Simon? I thought you were over it," she said, only slightly more calmly when it became evident the battle had subsided. Simon's face was shocked when he looked at her.

"I don't care about them. I don't care about--that. I care about Clary. If something happens to her…." he trailed off, looking bewildered as he swept their faces. "Why are you here? Did you come back because you got my messages?" he asked, fear beginning to take hold. "Did you call Magnus, is he on his way, too?"

"Why would Magnus be coming?" Jace asked, getting to his feet and rubbing his jaw. He didn't like the sickened look on Simon's face at all. "We were only coming back because it was a quiet night, nothing to do. I for one was going to see what Clary wanted to do." Simon's eyes suddenly fastened on Jace's face, ignoring the snort from Alec.

"So you don't know?"

Jace's chest felt tight as he looked at the panic in Simon's eyes, fearing the answer. "I don't know what?"

Simon's voice was soft as he answered, but Jace flinched at the words anyway.

"Clary isn't here. She went after Jonathon."

Jace blinked twice in silence and then shook his head in confusion. "Jonathon is dead, Simon. That's impossible, you're wr--"

"I'm not wrong," Simon cut him off. "I saw her with him last night at Jamba Juice. She's known he was alive for weeks. He's been claiming he's sorry, that he wants her and Jocelyn back in his life, wants a second chance."

Jace heard the words, but his brain had ceased to comprehend them. _She's known he was alive for weeks_, Simon had said. He'd seen her out with him. She'd known, and not told him. Jace's mind was reeling. The horror of Jonathon being alive was lost in the betrayal he felt. His heart had started pounding painfully in his chest and his breathing was labored, each breath he drew more constricted than the last. He looked at Simon as he continued talking, directing his words now to Isabelle and Alec.

"I was calling because she texted me. She went after him tonight, didn't want any of us in danger she said. We need to find her, but I don't know how. Magnus knew Jonathon was alive too, she'd made him swear not to tell us."

Isabelle's voice was pure ice when she broke in. "Why bother to tell us now? Why do you even care about Clary anymore? She's a Shadowhunter, like the rest of us. And we know you're all about the Downworlders now." Her eyes pierced Maia who stood back in silence. Alec blanched at that himself, but Jace was beyond reaction at this point. He was watching everything from a distance, separated from the immediacy of the moment.

Simon staggered back as if she had slapped him. "Is that what you think it is?" He whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief, "You think that I don't _care_ about you anymore?"

"Honestly Simon, I don't care what you feel, I'm over it."

He stood very still, watching her as she turned her back on him and herded Jace into the building.

As Isabelle started snapping directions, guiding him up the steps and through the nave, there was a tinny ringing in his head, as if this were all happening to someone else. He allowed them numbly to shove him into the elevator on the way upstairs.

As the door opened and Isabelle pulled back the gate, a sudden thought pierced the panic that had cocooned him. Regardless of anything else, Clary was right now on her own, trying to take on Jonathon. A ghost of a pain in his chest seared him, the memory of a dagger scraping down to bone and blood pouring from his mouth as he tried to say her name. On the heels of that memory came the vision of Abaddon, in Clary's guise, covered in blood and dying in his arms. His stomach lurched into his throat and his heart started to race, all rational thought evaporating in the memory of her broken and bloody. He tore from the elevator and raced to her room, ignoring Isabelle's cries behind him. He only dimly heard Alec tell her to let him go, to instead go and get weapons, that they'd catch up with him.

As he crashed through her door, her presence hit him like a wrecking ball. From her scattered books and pencils, to the clothes she'd left tossed on her bed, the whole room screamed Clary. His terror for her choked him like a fist wrapped around his throat. Preparing to tear the room to shreds for any sign of where she'd gone to find Jonathon, his eyes fell once more on her desk and her scattered papers. He saw the journal and his breath caught. He knew what it was, but could think of no plausible way for it to be here. Crossing the room, he picked it up, his hands shaking visibly. He opened to the page she'd marked and read the entry. Realization dawned on him, as it must have on her. He went to replace the sheet of paper she'd used to mark the page, and caught his name at the top of it. Unfolding the sheet, he saw a short note she'd scribbled in haste.

_Jace, _

_If you're reading this, I know you're going to be angry. I just hope you can forgive me. For my mother, I had to wait until I was sure. For you and for Max, I've been ready to do what I had to from the beginning. I know there will be no way to make you understand this, but I couldn't risk losing you again. I had to watch once as you died right before my eyes. It broke a part of me that will never heal. I still have nightmares about it. I don't think I'd survive a second time. There's no angel to give you back to me now. Please forgive me._

_I love you,_

_Clary _

He folded the paper carefully and put it in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to think clearly. It wouldn't be any use to her to run off without weapons, but he didn't want to run into Alec and Isabelle either. He remembered the stash of weapons in his room and took off down the back halls, to avoid the others.

Dragging the trunk out from under his bed, he threw back the lid. He shoved every seraph blade in the case into his gear and pocketed half a dozen chakrams. Jonathon liked to jump, he remembered. Lastly, he reached into the case and pulled back the false bottom. There beneath the lining was the fiercest knife he'd ever seen. He'd found it in the cave in Idris and he'd been surprised it was still in his gear when he woke up by the lake. He'd kept it, not intending to use it, just admired the sheer brutality of the weapon. A ten inch blade, three inches wide at the hilt, tapering into a fine point. The thick blade was strong, sharpened to a razor's edge. The leather wrapped hilt had brass knuckles built into it, two ugly weapons in one. He slid it into the sheath he'd strapped to his thigh just as the door began to buzz. Taking off in a jog, he beat Alec and Isabelle to the elevator, still clutching the journal under his arm. Alec slid to a stop at the gate, yelling down to him.

Jace ignored him, throwing the gate open at the bottom and jogging down the aisle. He knew it was Magnus at the door and he wanted to beat them to him. Wrenching the door open, he pushed Magnus back on the step.

"I need a portal," he demanded. Magnus looked stunned.

"I'm not at your beck and call, boy. What's going on? Alec sounded beside himself."

"You will give me a portal or I'll report you to the Clave for not reporting Jonathon Morgenstern's reappearance." Magnus' eyes narrowed, raking over Jace and giving away nothing. His tone was contemptuous when he answered.

"I've never seen Jonathon Morgenstern, and you're bluffing. Where's Clary?"

Jace scoffed as he answered. "That's exactly why I need the portal. She's at the warehouse down by the docks. That's where I want to go." He shoved the book into Magnus' chest.

"He's part greater demon and he has more power than even you do. That's where she is. Do you want Alec in his path too? Give me the portal. And hurry, they're bound to be on their way down as we speak."

"That stupid, reckless girl. I told her to talk to me first, damn it." The warlock sputtered, giving up his act. Jace was inclined to agree.

"Just get me there, before she gets hurt."


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belong to Cassandra Clare**

"Your way of thinking?" Clary echoed with a question in her voice.

"Yes. My side. I very much want you beside me. I know Jocelyn has the rest of the world fooled about my inherent evil and her righteousness. But we know better, you and I." the strength of his sincerity took her off guard. She gaped at him, her mind a total blank. He answered her bewildered expression.

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're not angry about what she did to you?" he huffed, flashing her a knowing smile.

"What she did to me?" she repeated, brows furrowed as she shook her head in confusion.

"Clary, don't pretend with me. She stole your identity! She took away your sight and robbed you of all those years as who you are. Then after crippling you, when Valentine finds her she doesn't waste much time worrying about how her declawed daughter will fare. Instead she put herself into a coma, out of your reach; leaving you unprotected without a clue of what's going on, or how much danger you're in."

Clary's mouth worked a few times before she forced the words out. "That's not how it happened." she stammered, feeling the heat in her cheeks as she flushed. Jonathon's words were too close to her own inner voice of doubt. He sneered at her.

"It's not? She didn't leave you defenseless with no one to turn to?"

"Luke--"

"Luke?" he laughed, cutting her off, "Luke turned you away when you begged for his help and left you alone with nowhere to go. You--only fifteen years old and homeless-- he tells not to call him again, that he's not your father. Well, that much was true, wasn't it? And he certainly demonstrated it there."

Clary felt as if cold hands had wrapped around her heart. She didn't even notice he was slowly advancing on her, one step at a time, his voice soft and soothing as he did so.

"Clary, I could maybe forgive her for what she did to me. For turning her back on an innocent baby who never wronged her. I was only hours old when she slammed the door to her heart on me. I never grew to love her, to have faith in her. I can tolerate her hatred for me. But her abandonment of you, my baby sister? She'll pay for all the pain she put you through and for leaving you alone."

Clary's thoughts were in turmoil. The icy glaze on her heart was spreading, numbing her to the outside world. The things that he said weren't specifically untrue; it was the spin he was giving the events, the hateful view he was taking that was wrong. And yet she couldn't stop the chilling effect his words had on her. The back of his hand brushing against her face snapped her out of her trance. Spinning, she leapt out of his reach, arms raised in a defensive position.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, outrage and disgust plain on her face. "You don't know them. You don't know what you're talking about. And even if they were wrong, that doesn't mean you're not evil."

He shrugged noncommittally. "If you wish them spared Clary, I can give that to you. They are not the topmost on my list of people to kill anyway." He held her eyes and nodded at the question he saw there. "Yes, Jace. I'm afraid angel boy is not open for discussion. He's been a thorn in my side since he was born. An upstart changeling, a pretender to the crown. But now he presumes too much. He actually believes he beat me. And then he returns home to bed my sister. His arrogance knows no bounds. I will suffer it no longer."

Clary's mouth hung open wide in the face of Jonathon's revelations. She was beyond wondering where he got his information from, it wasn't important anyway. The simple fact that he was announcing his intentions to kill Jace was enough to bring on her battle rage. Blood lust rose up and her voice was steady when she spoke. "You're not going anywhere near Jace."

His smile was patient as if he were speaking to a child. "Clary, do you really think you can stop me?"

"Yes, I do," she answered, starting to circle him.

He laughed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm not going to fight you, Clary." He turned his back to her and headed further into the warehouse.

"I hadn't intended to give you a choice," she retorted, following him. Her fingers itched to throw one of her knives at the back of his head as he sauntered away, arrogance and confidence rolling off of him in waves.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

"To finish what I had started before you arrived," he continued without turning to look at her, "I've already summoned…associates to help me to dispatch of your friends. If you're expecting them to come save you, don't hold your breath. Now I need to deal with lover boy. I really wanted to feel the blade sink into his flesh myself, but you're here now so that'll be impossible." He spun with unbelievable speed and caught the knife she'd thrown with an unnatural ease. Tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood up in warning.

"Now, now, Clary. Is that any way to behave? You really need to understand that I mean you no harm. It's unfortunate that you have these feelings for Jace, but they can't be helped. Consider this a warning." The knife flew within a hair's breadth of her face, rustling the few strands of her hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. "Next time, I won't be so forgiving."

She swallowed hard past the lump of unease lodged in her throat, following at a distance as he rounded the corner of the building. When she turned the corner, she stifled a gasp. She hadn't looked around the day before as they had fled, but now she was dumbfounded. The windows were covered with dark drapes which blotted out the street lights. Thick black candles burned at varying heights along the walls, either on shelves or furniture. The shelves themselves were filled with more of the putrid jars as the ones out front. Books and rotting things lined them in equal measure, turning her stomach with the stench they emitted. It was a foul glimpse into hell, this wing she'd entered. The largest pentagram she'd ever seen was scorched into the floor, retraced with white powder. She eyed it warily as Jonathon finally turned to face her. Her expression must've given voice to her thoughts because he started pointing to different items as he spoke.

"The powder is the ashes of a few warlocks who thought to cross ways with me. More potent than regular magician's sand. The bowls contain bits of each of the four elements, at the four cardinal points." Clary stood mute as he watched her for another minute. She realized all of his "work area" was outlined with a circle of black sand. Then without another word, he entered the circle there was a break and then filled in the gap. When the ring was complete, strong winds shook the building and Clary had to yell to be heard over the din.

"What are you doing?" she shouted. His face was serious when he looked out from the circle. He positioned himself in the very center of the pentagram before answering her.

"I told you. I'm finishing this. I'm claiming what is mine as a Morgenstern. I'm eliminating the competition and summoning my full power."

"What full power?" she shouted.

"I'm part greater demon, Clary. Valentine didn't realize what he was doing when he created me. I was his greatest achievement and he never knew it. With a simple sacrifice, I can wield the same power as a greater demon. Here. In _this_ dimension."

"What sacrifice?" Clary screamed, her panic rising as the gales grew around her. But her words were drowned out by another voice screaming even louder.

"Jonathon, what are you doing?" Pandora shrieked from behind Clary startling her.

Jonathon's expression changed as he fixed the witch in his sights. His smile grew cruel and his eyes taunted the girl. "I've been waiting for you, Pandora. I knew you'd follow me like you always do, so predictable." She cringed at his words as her eyes drank in their surroundings, sparks shooting from her fingertips from the charged atmosphere.

"This is black magic, Jonathon. You don't know what you're playing with. You need your meds," She muttered, taking an involuntary step back.

His eyes flashed as he exploded at her. "You're really some kind of stupid, aren't you? Look around you, you dumb bitch.. Do I look like I'm just having a bad day? Do I look like I'm playing with anything? Does it look like your feeble attempts to 'save me' have been anything other than a pathetic self delusion?" He sneered the last at her as tears streamed down her face. She shook her head, unable to accept this version of the man she thought she loved.

"This isn't you..," she whispered, her fragile self control fraying. As suddenly as they had started, the winds died down. All became still as Jonathon dropped his shoulders and looked imploringly at Pandora. He looked the very personification of abject agony.

"You're right, Pandora. Please help me. I don't know what I'm doing. I just can't stop." he cried.

Clary lunged for her as the witch ran past, towards the pentagram and Jonathon.

"No, don't..," she tried to warn her, but Jonathon's hand closed on Pandora's before Clary could reach her. He pulled her into the circle and then into his arms. Pandora reached up and brushed his hair back from his eyes. It was as tender and endearing as any lovers, and Clary was shocked that he allowed it.

"I can fix it, I told you. Just let me help you. I'll take care of you," she soothed.

He stared back at her, his eyes soft and loving. No sign remained of the monster that had been there just a moment ago.

"I know you will." he whispered as he touched his lips to hers. She melted into his arms as he deepened the kiss, and Clary couldn't help but be reminded of the one time he'd kissed her; the horrible wrongness of it. She looked away and shuddered. Something glinted in her peripheral vision and she turned back to them. Jonathon held Pandora close with one arm, that hand buried in her hair. Clary watched as the other arm rose; a wicked knife glinting in the candlelight as he brought it up behind her. It was without doubt a ceremonial knife. Down the length of the blade, there were runes and symbols Clary could not understand, and it ended in an elaborate hilt of a carved dragon poised in a striking pose.

As Clary cried out, Jonathon pushed Pandora from him and plunged the knife into her heart. Burying it to the hilt, he then ripped it free, letting the blood flow freely between the two of them, and staining the floor. Pandora's eyes were wide with shock and pain for a moment and then her body slumped lifelessly towards the floor. Before her lifless could disrupt the circle around them, Jonathon yanked her back to him, splashing more of her blood over the pentagram and himself. The few seconds it took for Clary to yank a Seraph blade from her jacket and cry out "_Munkir_" to name it, Pandora was dead, her blood slowly covering the pentagram.

The winds had begun again, stronger this time. Jonathon faced her from within his protective circle. His eyes were the black orbs her mother had spoken of, as he threw his arms up in supplication to the powers that swirled around him now.

He was chanting in a language she didn't understand, but she gathered his intent. She swept forward, breaking the circle with the angel's blade. The winds faltered and fell away. Jonathon's head snapped down to her. In what seemed like one movement, he crossed the distance between them and back handed her, knocking her to the floor. She heard the angel's blade skitter out of reach, even as the pain registered from the blow. Her vision went dark as she fell back. Before she could rally herself, his impossibly strong hand gripped her throat wrenching her off of her feet. She dangled from his grip while he shook her like a rag doll. Light bursts were going off behind her eyelids and she knew she was slowly strangling. The delicate bones in her neck were compressing painfully as his grip tightened. Any second now, her windpipe was going to collapse under the pressure. She fought for control over her fear as his voice boomed at her. It was deeper now, louder than she'd ever heard before.

"Damn it, Clary. I don't want you damaged. But I _will_ hurt you if you make me."

Jace tumbled from the portal just as Jonathon lifted Clary with one hand. Her head was rocking back and forth alarmingly as Jonathon violently shook her in his rage. Terror that it might be too late for her choked him at the sight. Lacing the fingers of his right hand through the brass knuckles of his dagger, he raised the seraph blade in his left hand. He strode forward as he spoke, hoping the sudden movement would distract Jonathon.

"Let her go, Jonathon." he demanded.

Jonathon slowly turned his head to fix him in his midnight gaze. An eager smile split his face as their eyes met. He tossed Clary several feet through the air and she landed on her side, her head smacking the concrete floor with a sickening thud. When she didn't move, Jace swallowed hard, but forced himself to hold his ground, although every fiber of his being shrieked to be sure she was still alive.

He watched Jonathon turn to him completely, ready to advance. Jace didn't give him the opportunity. With a roar he struck, seraph blade glowing brightly against the black backdrop of the chamber. Jonathon was ready for him and they crashed together, each drawing blood. Jace caught him in the arm with the dagger, but Jonathon had drawn blood as well. Scrabbling together, he could feel blood as it oozed down his side inside his shirt. He hadn't even realized Jonathon was armed. He was shocked as he felt Jonathon seize him and with a heave, he was across the room. He smashed into one of the bookcases, nearly toppling it. Books and candles fell from the shelves, dousing him in hot wax.

"Did you think you had defeated me, you fool? You're nothing, less than nothing. You don't even exist," he bellowed when Jace regained his feet. Rage had his face flushed, and the tendons on his neck were standing out like thick ropes. He was the picture of his father, and the likeness gave Jace a moment's pause. He'd spent a decade of his life cowering before that glare, and his mind rebelled as he faced it once more. The hesitation was a mistake. Jonathon struck, holding the blade in close and slashing the moment he was on him. Jace felt the bite as the metal sliced his side open. It wasn't deep enough to be life threatening, but he was bleeding freely now. The sight of the blood seemed to embolden Jonathon and he came at him again in a series of lunges that had Jace spinning and diving to evade. Jonathon countered one such evasion, catching him with a spinning back kick that sent Jace sprawling, his seraph blade clattering to the floor. Blinking away the fog in his vision, Jace felt himself gripped from behind and he was sailing again, this time into the concrete wall. He slid to the floor on impact, his left cheekbone surely broken and now his shoulder badly wounded.

"Get up! This is pathetic! You had more heart the last time we fought. What's the matter? Did she finally tame you? You always were the weaker one. That's why he couldn't love you like he did me. I was the stronger son, the better son." Jace spit blood from his mangled lip and waggled a loose tooth with his tongue.

"Loved you? You're crazy. I told you before, he was ashamed of you. He hid you in the middle of nowhere in a run down shack and caves. You were an accident. A mistake he regretted for the rest of his life. It's right there in the journals. You're a freakish half-monster. A thing."

Jonathon was suddenly above him, inches away. He choked on his words as he forced them out through his rage.

"That's a lie!" he thundered, losing control of himself. He kicked Jace wildly, several blows landing solidly in Jace's ribs. Jace had thought he'd finished and had tensed to move, but Jonathon regained some of his composure and smiled wickedly. "You know, I only got the one taste in Idris. But if I'd known she held such potential, I'd have definitely come for her sooner. Just think, with you out of the picture, I'll have it all. My unmatched strength and her unique powers. And some day, an heir of pure Morgenstern blood, with a command of both. It's a pity you were so tender though. I'll be that much more of a surprise. " he paused at Jace's obvious confusion. "That necklace she's been wearing? Tracking rune," he gave Jace a knowing smile as he continued, "You remember those fascinating pictures they reveal, showing exactly where the wearer is, right? Did you think those moments were yours alone? I was there. I know everything you've done to her. From what I saw, I think she'll adapt pretty quickly, don't you?" As he leaned in closer, Jace could feel his breath on his face. He felt his own rage growing, becoming a force of its own. The thought of Jonathon sharing their most sacred memories fanned the flames and Jace was shaking with the need to kill him. His chest heaved with the effort he was exerting to control himself, and the gash in his side bleeding profusely. Jonathon sneered, his voice barely audible as he whispered, "But the best part of all? Do you know why she didn't tell you I was here? Because she knows you're weak too. She knew you would fail, and you have. Know that before I kill you. You've failed her….again."

He drew back his arm back, the dragon hilt glinting in the glow of the candles. But Jace was faster. Squeezing the grip of his dagger, he swung with all the hate in his being. The brass knuckles connected with Jonathon's jaw at just the right angle, sending him sprawling. Before he could react, Jace was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. He hammered Jonathon's jaw with the brass knuckles, screaming in rage.

"You'll never get near her! I'll kill you first!" Jace raised his own dagger above his head, arching back to swing with all the more force. As he did so, Jonathon rammed his knife into his exposed ribcage, just below his heart. Despite his best effort, his scream tore free and echoed throughout the warehouse as Jonathon dug the blade in deeper. Jonathon drove him backwards, searing pain flaying his mind. His dagger dropped from his grip, clattering loudly to the floor. He felt his back slam into the wall, arresting his escape from the knife point. Jonathon's triumphant smile hovered before his face, the sight wavering as he grimaced in pain. He locked his jaw, grinding his teeth together to prevent the screams from breaking free again. Jonathon's voice was gleeful as he taunted him

"So weak. Go ahead brother, scream for me." He twisted the knife again, thrusting it deeper and tearing an even larger hole in Jace's chest. His vision went white as the pain twisted through him and his eyes rolled back in his head. A sound behind Jonathon drew Jace's attention and he opened them to the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

A few feet behind Jonathon, Clary was swaying precariously on her feet and wielding Jace's lost dagger. Her cheek was swollen and she already had a black eye from where he'd struck her. Angry red marks roped her throat and were already purpling to deep bruises. There was a large welt on her temple that had split open, where blood had welled unchecked. It coated her swollen cheek, stained her clothes, and had matted her fiery red hair to her head in a stringy mess. He assumed it was where she'd cracked her head when she landed on the concrete. He'd never seen her look so destroyed or so determined. He thought she looked magnificent.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments belong to Cassandra Clare**

Jace's eyes met Jonathon's as they widened fractionally in disbelief. Jonathon turned towards her slowly, and Jace saw the dagger he'd given to Clary lodged in her brother's shoulder. It felt like he'd given it to her a lifetime ago. As Jonathon turned, anger transformed his expression from a triumphant smile to an enraged grimace. Letting go of Jace, he yanked the dagger free and rushed her, seizing her by her shoulders. Jace dropped to his knees, the knife still deep in his ribs, but the pressure behind it now gone. Relief washed through him, keeping pace with a growing fear for Clary. Taking a few short steadying breaths, he reached for his stele knowing he'd never be able to help her in his current condition. Jonathon began screaming at her again.

"I'm the head of this family now! You are a Morgenstern, and you will do as you are told! "

She slashed at him with the other dagger, opening great rents in his arms and chest, but he seemed oblivious in his battle fury. Grabbing her, a fistful of her hair in one hand, and her arm in the other, he batted away the seraph blade she was pulling free and swung her from him. Jace watched helplessly, stele frozen in midair as she careened onto the catwalk over head, smashing into the steel side and landing in a heap on the metal. Jonathon was on her in one leap. When he lifted her, Jace could see from the way her arm was bent that it was broken. Jonathon saw it too, and wrapped his large hand around the unnatural angle and squeezed. Jace stopped breathing at the sound of her shrieking in agony. No one had ever hurt Clary like that before. No one had ever given her pain for sport and disguised it as endurance training. Since she'd never known such pain, she had no defense against it. He could see it in her eyes when she lost her self control and gave way to the pain. Her head thrown back, she screamed like a freight train and batted uselessly against the arm that held her.

Jace pushed himself to his feet, iratze forgotten as he reached deep for the strength to clear the distance to her. Pulling the blade from his chest, he was amazed to see how small the actual wound was. Only a few inches from side to side, it had felt like the Grand Canyon had been torn open in his chest and then set on fire. The blood that spilled from the wound soaked his shirt front quickly, and he clapped his left hand over it, staunching the flow. He raced to the stairs and thundered up, taking them four at a time. It was still a climb up the many steps with each of her screams prodding him faster. The screaming gave way to sobbing peppered with whimpers. Something inside Jace's mind snapped to hear her that way. Reaching the top, he threw himself at Jonathon without a planned attack. Clary collapsed to the side, her face blank. Jace could see she was going into shock.

"Clary, use your stele," he yelled as he grappled with Jonathon. Her vacant eyes swiveled towards him when she heard his voice. He tried again, "Clary, heal yourself-- use your stele."

His back arched and he clamped his jaw to stifle his own gasp of pain as Jonathon hooked his fingers into the open wound. Holding on tight to Jonathon's shirt with his left hand , he balled his right hand into a fist and drove it into his face, smashing his nose into his skull. Pressing his momentary advantage, he seized Jonathon and began hammering his head into the steel rail behind him. His rage gave him the strength he may not have had otherwise, and when Jonathon went still in his grip, he threw him aside. Hurrying back to Clary, his heart faltered when he saw her clutching her stele, her eyes wide with pain and fear. He knew she was strong, but he also knew the shock of that first agonizing encounter, when all of your false bravado is stripped away. Gently he brushed her bloody hair back from her face with one hand, taking the stele from her with the other. Never taking his eyes from her wide frightened ones, he traced the iratze himself, on the inside of her arm. She didn't flinch as the mark burned her, so he knew she was still in there somewhere. He drew an easier breath when he saw awareness creep back into her gaze. Her face changed as she took in his state.

"Oh God, Jace," She whispered as she reached for his face.

They both turned at the sound of derision Jonathon made as he fought his way to his feet. Jace stood also, putting his back to Clary and blocking her from her brother. Jonathon's tone was as insolent as his smirk.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt what may be your last moments." It would have been more convincing if his face were a little less mangled, without the blood that ran from his nose and lip to his collar. "Nice show. However," he addressed Jace, "I'm afraid that's over now."

They each took a step towards the other and suddenly Clary sprang up between them. Defiance glowed brightly in her eyes as she stared down her brother. Darting forward, she raised a seraph blade in the same motion. The blade shone in her grip as plunged it into Jonathon's chest without warning. Falling back, he caught at her upraised arm and pulled her with him. He looked down at the blade in confusion, before his eyes came back to hers. Jonathon's jaw clenched and he yanked her to him by the wrist he'd seized. Her boots scraped the metal and Jace lunged to grab hold of her, but Jonathon was closer. It happened very quickly, but Jace's mind fed him the images in slow motion. Jonathon had pulled the blade free, taking a firmer hold of her when she crashed against him. Lifting her over his head heedless of her struggles, he flung her from the catwalk without ceremony.

"NO!" the scream tore from Jace's throat, scraping it raw. Her eyes sought his for an instant, as she fell backwards and then she hit the top of one of the bookshelves below. Her head and torso flew over the edge, but it caught the small of her back, snapping her body in half the wrong way. Her eyes went dull and she tumbled the rest of the way to the floor with a blank stare. Jace already had one foot on the railing to leap over it when she hit the floor on her face. Her body spasmed twice, and then went deathly still. Jace hurled himself off the railing towards her without a second thought.

Jonathon caught him in midair, pulling him back onto the catwalk.

"I don't think so, loverboy. That's going to cost you. I had high hopes for her." Jace forced himself to tear his eyes away from the sight of her broken body on the floor beneath them. Turning to meet Jonathon's black gaze, the outrage he saw there pushed him over the edge. All reason left him and his self control evaporated. He grabbed Jonathon by the throat, the sheer force of his attack driving them both back against the other rail. Wrestling together, neither of them could get free enough to land a blow.

A chakram spun past their heads, dangerously close. A hope, so acute it choked Jace, sprung up and he released Jonathon, turning to see who'd thrown it. What he saw was like a second blow, like watching her death all over again. Magnus and Alec were crouched on either side of Clary, Magnus obviously looking for some signs of life. Simon was frozen in place several feet away, his heartbreak carved into his face in deep lines. Maia and Isabelle were advancing on them. The tears that shone in Isabelle's eyes told him all he needed to know.

He turned back to Jonathon, with a hate so powerful he thought it should spark in the air around him. Everything became very still, and he didn't hear the others as they called to him. He took the step necessary to close the gap between them and throwing his arms around Jonathon, he drilled him over the railing and they crashed to the floor below. Jace never hesitated, even as the impact rattled the teeth in his head. He pounded Jonathon's head into the concrete until blood splashed with each new blow. He felt like he could tear him limb from limb, with his own bare hands.

Getting his leg braced between them, Jonathon flung Jace away and staggered to his feet. Grabbing one of the jars from the shelf nearest him, he hurled it between them, and a hazy fog spread with a foul stench oozing from the ruined container. Jonathon disappeared into the murky darkness, but strong hands held Jace back as he tried to follow. Whirling, he reigned himself in when he saw was it was Isabelle. Her face was marked by her tears and she was fumbling with her stele.

"You need an iratze, you're half dead too." Immediately, she regretted her words, catching her bottom lip in her teeth as her eyes flashed up to his. He suffered her ministrations silently, keeping his eyes on the growing darkness that was filling the building. He could feel it when the mark began its work on him. The burning stopped around the hole in his chest and his mind felt sharper. He held onto the false sense of well being the rune gave him and braced himself to follow Jonathon. Jace heard him chanting softly and knew he couldn't leave him unchallenged for long. Pulling a seraph blade free and mumbling a name, he pushed Isabelle's anxious hands away as they fluttered around him.

"Okay. I'm coming too," she said, drawing her own blade and shaking out her whip. "Forget it," she said when she saw he was ready to protest. He nodded in resignation, knowing there would be no changing her mind. Maia flanked them to the left as the moved in unison, not needing words after so many years of fighting together. Another flash of light, and Jace pounced. Throwing himself at the movement, he closed on nothing but empty air. He turned, expecting to see Isabelle behind him, but she had disappeared into the smoke that closed in on all sides. Glass crashed at his feet and flames broke out all around him. The heat scorched him and the flames licked at his boots, driving him back. The one advantage to the flames was the added visibility in the fog. He was able to make out dim shapes now. Two of them wrestled together a short distance away.

As his eyes adjusted, he could make out Jonathon's profile fighting to control a struggling Maia. He couldn't see Isabelle in the confusion of the flames and mist, but he was relieved at least she wasn't in Jonathon's clutches. He raced forward, dodging more hurling jars as they burst into flames. He could see Maia was losing the battle; Jonathon was reeling her in hand over hand. As he got closer, he realized why she hadn't changed. Jonathon didn't yet have a good grip on her, but he soon would. The light of the flames glinted off of a thick silver chain that Jonathon had wound around her. Not only did it prevent her from changing, it was burning large painful welts onto any exposed skin it touched. One particularly large welt stood out across her throat and shoulder, oozing blood as Jonathon tightened her bounds one twist of his wrist at a time. Her jaw was clenched tightly in pain and her whole form shook with the effort it took for her to bear the agony in silence. Pride and pity struck Jace in equal measure and he waded towards them.

Alec crashed into his vision and tossed him a sword, as they closed ranks. In the back of his mind, a small part of him noted that Alec would not meet his eyes. He shoved the crippling heartbreak away to be dealt with later. He dimly wondered if Magnus would join them soon as well. Then all hope would be lost. His gaze shifted back to Jonathon and Maia, her composure slipping as her bonds became tighter and Jonathon moved in closer. With his free hand, Jace released a chakran, but Jonathon dodged it easily. Racing forward, Alec engaged Jonathon first. Jace knew it was only a protective measure for his own sake, he knew how bad he looked. While Jonathon countered Alec's attack, Jace swooped in to catch Maia as she crashed to the floor. Holding her as carefully as he could, he avoided her gaze as he tried to free her from the silver chain. It was looped around her several times, and he cringed as some of her flesh came away with the metal in a few places. She whimpered softly, but didn't cry out.

A crash to his left drew his attention away from Maia. Jonathon had thrown Alec into one of the worktables, sending it careening into the wall with the windows. The crash sent jars, lit candles and magician's sand flying. Alec landed in the debris, motionless. The drapes went up in a rush, the flames fueled by the chemicals. The smoke was thick and noxious, but the flames put Jonathon in a spotlight. Isabelle pounced from out of nowhere. Shrieking like a warrior queen, she clung to Jonathon, tearing at his face and eyes with her bare hands. Jonathon spun, crushing her against the wall to shake her free. Turning, he seized her by the throat, screaming, "WHAT do I have to DO to kill you, you slut?"

Jace had already begun to move towards Alec, having lowered Maia as gently as possible. He wrenched his unconscious form out of the path of the flames, he turned to help Isabelle. Glancing back to where they had stood, an entirely different sight greeted him. Having snapped out of his trance at the sounds of Isabelle's screams, Simon now wrestled with Jonathon. For a moment they grappled, and then Isabelle swooped in once more, trying to aid Simon. Jonathon wrenched himself free and pulling back, drilled his fist into Isabelle's jaw, slamming her head back and into the wall behind her. She slid to the floor, unconscious.

Simon lost all control of himself. A more even match for Joanthon than any Shadowhunter, he freed the vampire within him. He clutched Jonathon to him, snapping and snarling, fangs bared. Careful not to swallow his poisonous blood after the change Jace's blood had wrought in him, he tore at Jonathon's throat mercilessly. With a roar he hurled Joanthon's battered form away from him and it crashed heavily to the floor. Simon froze, standing over a still motionless Isabelle, chest heaving. Jace was stunned at the transformation as he stared at Simon. Gone was the gentle Simon he'd known. In his place stood a terrifying vampire. He stood guard over Isabelle, hands curled into claws, fangs bared in a terrible grimace, his eyes alight with a promise of violence. He glared at Jonathon's prone form expectantly. When Jonathon move, he whirled to Isabelle again, all evidence of possible violence disappeared.

He crouched beside her and gathered her to him, gently smoothing her hair back from her face and brushing the soot from her cheek. Rocking back on his heels, he cradled her in his arms, murmuring softly in her ear as he did so. Her eyes opened at the sound of his voice and she stared up at him with love written plainly across her face. The sight stung Jace's eyes with threatened tears and he had to look away from them. The pain in his heart felt like a flaming brand had been lodged in his chest. At least they'd saved Isabelle .He pushed himself to his feet and lifted the sword. He'd gone on faith the last time he fought Jonathon, he wasn't about to take anything for granted this time. Closing the distance, he saw that most of Jonathon's throat had been torn away, the blood loss was staggering. No human being could have survived the damage. But this was no ordinary human being. He nudged the body with his foot and it rolled over. Images of Clary danced in his vision, the fear he'd seen in her eyes as she'd sailed from the catwalk. The lifeless stare as she tumbled from the bookcase. He raised the sword over his head, trembling with the force of his fury. Bringing it down with the strength of his hate he let free the scream that had stuck in his throat at the sight of her broken on the floor. Jonathon's body arched as the sword speared his heart. His eyes flew open wide and met Jace's as he clutched at the sword that pinned him to the floor. Reaching out, Jace grabbed one of the jars on the nearest shelf. Meeting Jonathon's eyes, he smashed it to the floor beside his head. His voice was low, but he knew Jonathon could hear him.

"Go to hell, Jonathon. And stay there this time."

Isabelle's voice reached him over the roar of the flames and Jonathon's screams. Alec still wasn't moving, and most of the building had caught fire. Jace's eyes tracked the flame as it caught the liquid he'd just doused Jonathon in. With a grim smile of satisfaction, he looked towards Alec and the others. Isabelle had freed Maia from the silver and Simon was trying to lift Alec despite the blood that flowed freely from where his head had hit the bookshelf. Jace joined him, taking more of the weight so Simon could let go if the blood overpowered him. He didn't go far, but he did lean away from Alec with a stricken face.

Together they limped around the corner of the warehouse towards the main door. Jace stopped dead in his tracks as they turned the corner. Magnus was gone, as was all sign of Clary. His heart started into an uneven rhythm, not sure what to think, or if he should dare to hope. They dragged Alec and Maia into the fresh air outside and lowered them to the pavement. Maia was in bad shape, but there was nothing they could do for her here. As Simon went for the van, Jace drew the iratze on Alec's arm. When the van pulled to the curb, they loaded the wounded into it. Once they were in, Simon never touched the breaks until they reached Magnus' loft.


	17. Epilogue

Isabelle was surprised when Simon followed her from the room out to the loft. She had left Alec sprawled clean and bandaged in Magnus' own bed, a pampered prince being waited on hand and foot. Magnus had Maia and Clary in other rooms, so she'd expected Simon to go straight to Clary's. She turned to him, confusion on her face. She still remembered the things he'd said when he was holding her, the gentle feel of his caress. It made her wish for his touch again, but she knew that hope was in vain. She turned to him, waiting for him to speak. Simon's warm brown eyes burned into hers for a moment as they stood in silence. Then drawing a deep breath, he spoke quietly, dropping his gaze.

"I know what you think. I know that it's my fault that you were hurt. That you think I didn't care." He paused, his eyes studying the floor as he sought the words to explain himself. "I didn't want to care, that much is true. It was selfish and wrong, but I very much wanted to put you all out of my mind. To forget you and move on. But it was impossible." He crossed to her, reaching out and then letting his hand fall away, afraid to touch her. "You don't understand how afraid I am. Everyone I know, everyone I love I'm going to have to watch die. I'll watch as every one of you withers and dies, while I stay locked in this existence. I tried to move away from you, to let you go, but I couldn't. And then you were always in danger, always trying to be in the very center of everything. The only way I could think to keep you as safe as possible was to keep you on the sidelines. And so you thought I was choosing Maia over you. But that is impossible." This time he did take her hand, and when she looked up at him, he answered the wordless question he saw in her eyes. " I'm not just going to love you for the rest of your life, Isabelle. I'm going to love you for the rest of mine."

She blinked away the tears that had started to flow down her cheeks and crumpled against him, overwhelmed. Taking her chin in his cold hand, he turned her face to his and kissed her softly, reverently.

Clary couldn't find a place on her body that didn't hurt. She lay there a few moments, taking inventory of her various sore spots. Her body felt like one large bruise. A sound to her right had her eyes fluttering open as she tried to fix the movement in her wavering gaze. Magnus stood nearby, bedecked in a red satin and sequin jacket over a black silk shirt. Once her eyes cleared from her own fog, she squint at his brilliance as the morning light struck the sequins and threw scarlet stars across the bed and the wall.

"Did I miss a rave?" she moaned, looking away. Jace was slumped in a chair below the window, wearing a clean white t-shirt and flannel pants that didn't quite fit properly. The depth of his slumber made her instantly suspicious. She eyed Magnus, and he shrugged, waggling his fingers at her. Blue sparkles fell from his fingertips, disappearing before they hit the gold lame quilt that covered the bed.

"He refused to leave, afraid you'd wake up and he wouldn't be here," he answered, "He took quite a few knocks himself, and he needed the rest. Besides if he was hovering all over you, I wouldn't be able to do everything I had to." He fixed her in his gaze and his face was serious. "This might hurt some, Clary. You almost died. If I hadn't walked in just as I did, you would have."

She knew that of course. She remembered flying from the catwalk and the horrified look on Jace's face as she went down. Then she remembered searing agony for a split second, before everything went dark. There was no light, no sound, nothing. And she hadn't been able to move. She was just lying there in silent darkness and not able to move. She shuddered at the memory. When she did, searing pain tore through her spine and she couldn't help screaming. She watched as a fresh batch of blue sparkles found their way to Jace. He stopped his thrashing and stayed asleep. Magnus was all business when he addressed her.

"You snapped your spine like a dry stick, Clary. You're going to be here a while healing. I stopped the damage and mended the bone. Too much healing though, would drain you more than you can handle. You'll have to take it easy and be still. I will be able to help it along, but only in small increments until you're stronger. What I did," he broke off, eyeing Jace, "was entirely against Clave rules. I know that they wouldn't care, but they can never know. If they did and didn't report it, the Clave would consider them guilty as well. You should have died, darling. I interfered with the natural order, reversing the process. I kept you in your body and mended the damage around you. If the Clave knew I could, or would do something like that, my life here would be over. You can never tell anyone the things that you may remember."

"I don't remember anything, Magnus. Just darkness and pain," she answered, willing herself to be still.

"Even better," he answered. "Now pretend to be asleep," he said, blue sparkles once more dusting Jace and then disappearing.

"Magnus?" she whispered, watching Jace for signs of life.

"Yes, Clary?" his tone was already annoyed. A small smile broke out that she couldn't quite keep in.

"Is that fairy dust?" she asked, snickering.

"Oh, you must feel better. That was almost funny, Fray." And then he was gone.

Keeping her eyes closed she listened as Jace woke and then dragged the chair closer to the bed. When she felt him take her hand into his, she fluttered her eyelids as if waking. His other hand touched her shoulder so gently, she could barely feel it. She opened her eyes and looked into his. As she drank in his face, her vision turned watery with her tears. She'd been so afraid she'd never see him again.

"Are you angry?" she asked. She searched his eyes for his answer, but saw only exhaustion and relief. He looked so tired; her heart went out to him. He had bruises himself, but nothing that looked truly dangerous.

"No Clary, I'm not angry. I was, for about twenty minutes, then I found your letter." His voice was soft, but his tone was still firm. "Do you think it was any different for me? Do you think it was any easier for me to fear that you were hurt or dead? You will _never_ do that to me again," he said. It was a demand, not a request, and she knew it. She nodded as best she could.

"I never meant for you to be hurt. I just couldn't bear…" her voice trailed off and her tears spilled over.

He reached out, smoothing her hair back from her face and brushing away her tears. His hand lingered on her cheek, warm and solid. It was the simplest of touches, but it comforted her more than he could have known.

"I know, but it's over now. He's gone," he said. She lay her head back and allowed herself the peace that washed over her at those words. It was really over. Jonathon was gone.

She reached for Jace with her free hand, wanting to pull him to her, to bury her face in his shoulder and wallow in his smell. Sunshine and lemons, like always. He saw the pain it caused her and gestured for her to be still. Instead, he stood and rounded the large bed. Pulling back the quilt, he slid in beside her as gently as possible. Even the slight movement he caused as he settled in wracked her with tremors of agony. She bit her lip so hard to keep from crying out that she tasted blood in her mouth. Afraid to attempt anything more, she turned only her head to him as he wound himself around her. The warm feel of his body pressed against hers was worth any discomfort she felt though. Pushing aside her shirt, he started to draw lazy circles on her bare side. She noticed several healing runes etched along her ribcage that she didn't remember having before. His face grew dark as he saw them too. His eyes rose to meet hers, and although she could see there were several things he wanted to say about putting herself in danger, he didn't say any of them.. Instead, he said only, "I love you."

And kissed her as carefully as he could manage. The feel of his lips on hers, the smell of him this close was as powerful a magic as any Magnus had. She was overcome with a sense of well being. When he broke the kiss and leaned back from her she was silent a moment, enjoying the feel of his fingertips on her bare skin. Then she said what she'd been thinking since the moment she'd seen Jonathon in the park. Since even before that, since the moment at Lake Lyn when he'd fallen to the sand.

"My life has no meaning now, without you in it."

His lips ghosted against her temple before he rested his head against hers. Then she drifted back to sleep, safe in the circle of his arms.


End file.
